Greater and More Terrible
by Silirt
Summary: Sequel to Slytherin's Monster; Third year AU. The surviving Hogwarts students are back to continue the war against a resurrected Voldemort, greater and more terrible than he was before. Consider yourself warned.
1. Prologue: Memory

The groan of a rotting corpse droned as Croaker sent another fire charm after the monstrous preserved king, resin-hardened wrappings slashing through the air like blades. He swore as the monster raised its ancient arms, a wave of mud coming up from the floor to absorb the spell.

"RUN!" a younger wizard shouted, his wand movements forming a shield to block the black-green haze that emanated from the monster, almost certainly an impossibly complex dark curse. His long red hair was covered in the same mud in which his dragonhide boots were sloshing. "It's not worth it!"

On any other day, the Unspeakable would have been inclined to agree, but the ghost he was chasing would not elude him so easily. There were dark secrets to discover, and if the pitch blackness of an ancient tomb was the last place to look, he would be none too surprised.

"Get on ahead, boy, I'll finish the job!" he shouted back, unwilling to carry two corpses out.

"_Incendio!_" The younger man severed an ancient wrapping as it whipped past his head. _That's a good man, there._

"Bill! The thing you had before, the-" Croaker heaved himself out of the way of a dark curse, sending back one of his own. Killing curses seemed to have no effect.

The long-dead king raised his arms again, disappearing momentarily into a shadow, moving about on the floor. The sound of a skull's rotten teeth clacking rang out through the room.

"He's laughing at us," the young man muttered without any humor at all. It was the kind of conviction that came with years of experience.

_Where the hell did he go?_

_How the hell did I get here?_

It had been years since Croaker had been to Africa, and years longer since he had seen anything like what he was assigned to find.

"Bill Weasley, I'll be damned."

The red-haired wizard looked back, some kind of amulet in his hands. The Intelligence at the Department had been correct in stating that he could be found in the same cafe, every day at noon. The evening sun came in through the bottle-glass green of the mosaic in the stone wall.

"Croaker! It's been ages since you were out here for Ahura-tet." he responded, setting down whatever curio he was working out. "How are things at the Department?"

"Can't tell a soul, as always." The mood did not darken so much as he might have thought. _Young man probably can't tell his own family what he's doing. If I had one, I might even feel bad for him._

In truth, he was in Egypt after a particularly busy year chasing down rumors, doing ground research, and deciding the most likely place was the Valley of Kings. The information he had out of Ebony's interrogation was highly suspect at first, but everything he had discovered since then corroborated the story. _If she keeps this up, she'll be an Inspector again- even after everything that she did. _The worst part about being an Unspeakable was that he knew every sordid detail of how she treated the students at Hogwarts, the _children_, not to mention everything she had been researching and yet there was precisely nothing he could do about it, since he was forbidden from divulging anything he learned in a secret Department interrogation.

Having gone through a list of books removed from the Restricted Section, the then Inspector had deduced the commonality about them- they all concerned a nearly permanent method of avoiding death, if one was willing to resort to the darkest of magic. There were no leads on what specifically it was, only that there were hieroglyphics in the titles of a few of them. _Ancient Egyptians were obsessed with immortality- they went further and further as the Romans took over the Mediterranean. We should have expected them to use dark magic. _Apart from that, the trail more or less went cold.

At the very least, Bill had an interesting lead.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, indicating a ruby red amulet.

"No idea."

"I nicked it out of a tomb yesterday. Damn thing was cursed to keep me from summoning it, and we only just got out with our lives." Bill audibly sighed. "Thing is, I don't know what it is either. There have to be hundreds of manuscripts in the tomb, but we'll never get past the defenses, at least not without bringing the whole place down. To make things worse, that's actually what the goblins want the team to do. None of the physical wealth in there will be destroyed, if we just ...envelop-" he made an overzealous hand gesture "-the whole interior in flames, it can all be resold, but we're going to lose every strip of papyrus, and the paint's all going to be gone as well."

"I have a different idea, Weasley." A red eyebrow went up. "Even money says I know what that thing is, too."

"Don't think I don't know where you're going with this."

"One of our own, Bagnold, you might know her as Ebony-"

"She was in the papers, yes. She was also in a fair bit of my letters from home. Gave my youngest brother a spot of trouble, way I understand it."

"Never met him, but that's what I would think," Croaker continued. "She's a right nasty bitch if you ask me. Anyway, beginning of the school year she works under the librarian, helping out for credit or something, I don't know. Really she's looking for records of books removed from the Restricted Section, and why, probably to establish a precedent. Thing is, there was a whole list of them taken out in the forties, and they led me here."

"You have the books?" _I have the titles._

"There's a fair chance what you're holding is a horcrux."

It was not long before the two of them were off.

Bill got them through most of the defenses the team had set up to keep the unwary out, as well as a few curses they had not quite broken. Croaker kept his hands to himself, for the time being at least, keeping the better parts of the other man's mind occupied by telling him about the horcrux, its known magical properties, and the most likely way it was created.

"Amazing it still works after all this time," the young wizard muttered, going ahead of them and waving away the final enchantments before getting into the main room, the dusty corridor around them smelling of death. "_Bab- hȝ" _he continued with a wave of his wand. Some invisible barrier must have fallen away before them, though to the Unspeakable it was invisible. "It's like a password. We got it from old Ramses before my time."

The tomb appeared to be mostly left as it always had been, though his trained eyes could pick out a few footprints. The team was careful; not a thing had been knocked out of place. In the center there was the sarcophagus, as expected, though breaking from character it had been opened.

"That's where you nicked the amulet?"

Bill nodded. "They don't lay around teaching you to observe down there, do they?"

"No, sir, they don't," Croaker muttered back as they approached the final resting place of Sehkmethis I, the skeletal, black fingers creeping out from below the high sides of the extravagant container.

In the present things seemed infinitely more complicated.

As the monstrous mummy continued to refuse to reappear, Bill was applying enchantments to himself, mostly in tongues Croaker did not recognize. Instead he cast shield charms of various descriptions as he scanned the room, looking for anything resembling papyrus, long since yellowed, though there would be enchantments to keep it from decaying to illegibility. _Somehow they never figured out how to get them to work on their bodies. Either that or it's a lot more complex. _A disembodied, skeletal leg stood a few feet away from them, having apparently come from nowhere. The incantation for the Weasley's fire charm might have come out as a bit of a scream, but Croaker would not tell his coworkers. _Yeah, it's probably the second one.  
_

As a pair of seemingly unrelated bones fell from the ceiling, his shielding was enough to inform him, though the other wizard was not so lucky. Two hands had already found their way to his throat.

"_Relashio!" _the Unspeakable shouted, freeing his windpipe, though it appeared the linen wrappings meant to silence him. "Bill! It's the bloody amulet!"

"I'm not going to give it back!" the red-haired man shouted angrily, casting more blasting curses than is generally recommended while underground.

"Destroy it!"

The skull appeared in the distance as if to respond to the threat, ancient white hair hanging off the desiccated black head. Dark red light from the eyes seemed to control a spine, slithering on the floor. With conjured ropes Croaker bound the targets, finding the fire charms only made the cadavers more dangerous.

"I can't! It's the key to understanding everything they were trying to do in the New Kingdom!" There was a hardness to his voice, an unwillingness to entertain the notion. "I shouldn't destroy it- the knowledge will put us above the goblins, above every work and craft-"

"Bill, it's not worth it!" The ribcage seized his leg like a madman's vice, even as he fought ever faster and harder against the hardened linens coming after him from what seemed like every direction.

"I'm one man, Croaker- together we're two. This is _immortality _itself!" the younger man shouted back, not at all assailed by cadavers or ancient magic.

"Merlin, look at yourself! _Incendio! _They're not attacking you because you're not a threat!"

As if finally convinced the other wizard dropped the amulet, all hellish horrors moving to seize it at once.

"_Bombarda!"_

The bright red horcrux exploded into what had to be thousands of pieces as everything in the room froze. All around them the monstrous remains of the king were no longer animated, the floating head falling to the ground, its eyes at last darkening.

"Goblins are never going to forgive me for that," Bill spat, kicking an arm to the side. "Just stay there and die, we don't pay you to live!" he joked in some high, creaky voice. "The pharaohs haven't been alive for five thousand years and they're still making us money!"

Croaker laughed uneasily, deciding it was possible that the curse-breaker's words had been more than the ramblings of a bit of dark magic trying to keep itself alive. _Man's mad about his job, I'd say._

"Have a vacation in mind?"

"I'm on one," Bill responded, seeming to have recovered a mite. "My family's here to visit."

"Sure dear old mum's happy her big boy can handle himself," the Unspeakable joked. "Tell you what, visit them for a change." He spotted a chest that seemed to be worth the effort of opening, and he levitated the lid wordlessly.

"I came here for a change. My old home's going to be the same to the end of time, whenever the muggles find out about us, whenever dark wizards destroy everything, or whenever the goblins find out they've been cheated by three percent in the government funds rate- whichever comes first." As he went on about it, Croaker found the chest contained scrolls, but not the manner he needed or wanted. _Anything related to horcruxes- would have called them Ankh Amulets or something of that nature._

"Well, what I'm trying to say is you need to get out more. Take a real vacation somewhere, doesn't have to be long."

"I wouldn't mind going to France at some point." Bill stated, visibly thinking about it. He seemed to have a better idea of where to find the documents. _I'll need some way of getting them off him- his dig, of course, just need a copy. _"There are some interesting things to research out there," he thought aloud, staring at a sheet of illegible papyrus.

"What are you going to do with what you have now?"

"Officially, the goblins keep it a few years. They might decide to sell it, but the thing to know about that is they don't see property the same way as everyone else."

Croaker was more or less familiar, but decided to let him explain it.

"How so?"

"Well, when they sell something to you, what they mean is they're willing to take what you're giving them as long as you give it back eventually," he approximated. "They're willing to do business on a lot, but they're not willing to sell anyone anything on a permanent basis, at least not if it's goblin-made."

"They can stipulate that kind of thing in contracts," the Unspeakable suggested, trying to get a look over Bill's shoulder. There were a thousand and one decryption charms in the Department of Mysteries, so the language was really no issue, but he had to have some way of knowing the document was what he needed. "Is that about the amulet?" he asked.

"Mostly that's what they do, in official deals and that sort of thing; the concern is when it was an informal trade, mostly a long time ago. No idea what this is, I'll have to look over it." He shook his head in momentary disappointment. "Now that there's no threat here, someone tells the goblins, then they get all this."

"Yeah, but you don't want that, do you?" Croaker asked. "Why let them have it all to themselves?"

"We agreed to this. They don't give a damn about what I do as long as it gets them gold. I get paid well enough myself."

"Yeah, but that's not why you took the job." _I have to press while I have the footing._

"No, not really. I get to look into things, but I get the idea you want a copy. I'm afraid that can't happen. If I make copies, the copies get out and then they can't sell the information to publishers," Bill explained.

"They sell information? How are you meant to return it?"

"If it's not goblin-made, they don't care. I don't know, maybe you have to give them a memory."

"A memory, eh?" the Unspeakable wondered aloud, leading the younger man to the mutually beneficial conclusion. _That's another reason the boy needs to get out. I'm running circles around him.  
_

"You work in the Department most of the time, right?" he asked, uncertainty evident. "Nothing ever gets out of the basement?"

"Not a word."

"Owls can find you?"

"We have a box upstairs," Croaker answered, pretending to put it together. "I'm beginning to think you and I can have a long and productive exchange, Bill Weasley." He extended a hand and the other man took it. The pair of them started back toward the entrance. _He's going to have all the time in the world to go through it and look for something relevant to horcurxes._ "You'll be getting some of the more interesting things we learned from the Old Kingdom, and because I like you and you need it, a primer in French. On the subject, you wouldn't believe some of the things Napoleon found when he was here."

The conversation drifted to various subjects as the wizards apparated into the city and made their way to what looked like a townhouse, reasonable for a young bachelor in the area. The building was of a more modern design, which he should have expected, even in the magical bit of Giza, but the exterior was the same sandy color the buildings there had always been, the windows a deep blue reminding him of lapis lazuli.

"This is where you've holed up the family?" the Unspeakable asked as though he did not believe it. In truth, he was perfectly familiar with charming the insides of buildings, it seemed a staple in architecture for longer than he cared to find out.

"We've been in tighter quarters."

"Haven't blown up the inside of the old homestead?" Bill shook his head.

"There are laws against it now, protecting the damn builders or the realtors or someone," he muttered, annoyed. "The older buildings are grandfathered in, which makes sense, they can't just change it back, but we have to extend the interior of our home the old fashioned way."

"Extending the exterior?"

Bill nodded darkly.

"Another reason I'm not going home any time soon- I've only been away just long enough to realize that the place looks ghastly."

Croaker turned to go, having no intent to follow the man into his crowded home.

"No need to rush with the mail, just pick out anything that looks like it might explain how the amulet worked." _Didn't seem to have any special protections on it, now that I think about it. You'd think there'd be enchantments keeping it from being destroyed by anything except fiendfyre._

"I'll be looking for the explanation myself." he said to the turned back of the Department of Mysteries employee. "Don't try to tell me that's the only reason you're in Africa, though," the younger wizard gambled.

_Ah, what the hell._

"I might be in the area looking into reports of unusual Erumpet activity down south of here."

"Unusual activity? I haven't heard of an Erumpet in months."

"Right on the money, Mr. Weasley. There are none left in Egypt, upper or lower. They've all gone and beaten a path southwest."

"No one noticed?" he asked, before realizing the answer was obvious. "Any idea why?"

"If I ever find out, I'll tell you."

Croaker disapparated, concealing his grin.


	2. Egypt and Back Again

As Hannah thought about it again, the trip was somewhat bittersweet.

Her mother had readily agreed when some friends of hers offered to take her to the country on an educational trip, since she had never been on one before, which was good since she had no leads on how to break the curse apart from Ron's mysterious brother. Without knowing her reason for wanting to go, her mother wrote that it would be good for her to see the sights, or that was what Percy told her when he read the letter that arrived in the post office at the embassy. Having not received a letter since the one she got for Hogwarts, it was a unique experience, especially since it was one of the Weasleys reading it for her, including the embarrassing terms of endearment Verna Abbot reserved for her. _I suppose that might have been embarrassing, but at least Percy had to read them. I bet he regrets volunteering for the task.  
_

For the remainder of the week, Fred and George recycled the terms, using them on him.

The height of the experience was hard to pinpoint; though reason said it should really be the time her sight was restored, there was something distinctly magical about arriving there the first time, taking in the sounds and smells as she landed with the family in a marketplace in the wizarding part of Cairo. As she expected would be the case with any crowded city, it was impossible for a blind girl to get around by hearing, but Percy had been kind enough to extend an elbow for her, coughing expectantly for her to take it until Ron grabbed her hand and put it there. Being led around, she was free to use her remaining senses to explore, constructing a version of the city in her mind as she went. The streets were clean, the people were nice to each other, and the smell that had her convinced there was a corpse in an alley was really just her imagination again.

Suffice to say there were better and worse parts to getting her sight back.

As all things must, the trip came to an end and she found herself in Sheffield again, as Arthur Weasley was skilled enough at making portkeys, though he never talked about it, since it did not interest him at all. Instead it felt like once every twenty minutes she was explaining what a magnet was and how guns worked, which she admitted was a fuzzy concept, but she could reliably make up enough terms to keep him entertained. Every so often she would be explaining things with hand gestures and either the twins would snicker or Percy would cough, and she would realize she was facing the wrong way.

As she jumped to get a duster off the top of the icebox, she might have bemoaned the illegality of magic, but she knew why the rule was in effect and if nothing else, every time she did something the normal way, she got a nice mental image of Ron's father muttering 'fascinating' as he stood off to the side. _He's a regular David Attenborough.  
_

In fairness he was pleasant enough and perfectly generous to help her out of the bind in which she had found herself, and she would go so far as to say she could detect a bit of him in each of his sons. His eldest, Bill, seemed something other than a perfect gentleman, but she found him caring and interesting, even beside his career.

"See, the thing about curse-breaking is each one will eventually break if you know what you're doing and you work at it long enough," he explained. "Tuthmosis III secured his tomb with several thousand locust swarm curses, and it took us years just to figure out the first one, since the literature on the magic is so limited, but once we got the first few of them, the rest went down in a matter of hours. The muggles estimate they've found around a third of the tombs, but it's really only about a tenth. We keep them out of the rest so they don't run into any of the curses, though a handful of them have gotten past us."

Hannah remembered nodding, having heard of the mummy's curse in popular culture. She guessed there was either very little the wizarding world could do about rumors when they reached critical mass, or very little cause to be worried about something most people considered idle superstition.

Back in the normal world as she was, she considered asking people around her if they believed magic existed, but she had a good idea of the answer and that had to be a violation of magical law in some way. She had also never looked up the legalities of heaving Malfoy off the Astronomy tower, but she had little hope of a convenient exception being written in.

There was a tapping at the window, interrupting her thoughts.

The young witch let the owl in peaceably, a single feather from its mostly white plumage stuck to the letter it bore. Opening it as she fished around in the kitchen for an owl snack, not knowing what it would like, Hannah was supremely grateful it was ten in the morning and her mother was not at home.

_Dear Hannah,_

_I heard about your trip to Egypt and I hope this letter reaches you after you get back, when you can see again. If that is not the case, I would ask whoever is reading this letter to please burn it._

There was a long empty space on the page. Hannah looked over to see the owl was picking at a mouse in a mouse trap. _That's convenient._

_I know things have been difficult for you. I know things are getting mad at school, so I want to see you, just so we can do something as friends again. Please send this owl back and let me know if it's okay for us to come so we can talk in person.  
_

_Love, Susan_

It was a short missive, but the reason was perfectly apparent. Susan was probably somewhere close, so the owl would get back soon, Hannah reasoned as she scrawled an even shorter response on the back, scratching it out to write it again with better script.

_Dear Susan,_

_Thank you for writing me with all that's going on-_

Hannah stopped dead.

_How do I know this is really Susan?_

She remembered the code words that Hermione had established with Ron and Neville, though she had never taken part in all that. _If I killed the owl, they wouldn't know whether or not it reached me- _Looking over at the bird, there was serious doubt she could accomplish it without magic. A body-bind and a wringing would do the trick, but she would only be trading one wrong sort of attention for another. Keeping her wits about her, she had some idea the owl belonged to Susan, but even if it were her owl it might have been someone else who wrote the letter. _Even if I got her to write something she remembered, she could have a wand to the back of her head or something._

Hannah thought about sending a letter straight to Susan's house, but even that would not guarantee she was talking with her friend and not whoever was controlling her. _She doesn't normally send letters to me directly- owls really aren't supposed to be flying all over normal people's neighborhoods carrying letters. _The previous summer she had not received so much as one letter, but she had spent a lot of time reading and writing, and she had a stupid fight with her friend before that. _I don't remember what it was, but it shouldn't have been enough to stop being friends. I suppose I should be glad we were back at it when we went back to school._

Deciding to assume the best and send the letter back, the blonde witch wrote that she really would like to see her friend again, and would be available at the earliest convenience. _Even if she's been kidnapped, they already know where I live. Sending the letter back won't tell them anything. Well, it'll tell them I'm home, but they had to at least suspect that._

The owl flew out the window from whence it came.

Hannah put her books back upstairs where she could reliably hide them in the event her mother had any guests over, uncertain of what the future had in store. _Well, really I never quite know what's going to happen. There are just too many things that are possible, and I never know which it is. Most of the time I can't even think of all of them.  
_

It was not ten minutes before there was a tentative knocking at the door.

"Susan?" she asked, hand on her wand.

"Hannah? Is there anyone with you?" _I suppose it really doesn't make a difference if I tell her my mother's not home.  
_

"That's just the phone," she replied, pretending the other girl had heard something. _If they think someone's on the line, maybe they won't do anything. That's if they know what a phone is. _"Do you know what a phone is? Sorry, I just don't know. I met-"

"Arthur Weasley, I know. My aunt is always on about him," Susan said with an audible annoyance as Hannah opened the door. "Did you know he actually looks for muggle artefacts just to enchant them? He likes to experiment with that sort of thing, though there's always a convenient loophole in the law." It seemed her friend from Hogwarts was with her aunt and uncle, as perhaps she should have expected. The pair of them were well-dressed by applicable standards, since most wizards seemed to have no idea how normal people dressed. The father's three piece was brown, black, and white, while the mother wore a winter ball gown, which looked especially odd, given an unmistakable hardness she seemed to possess. _At least people are more inclined to take them for eccentrics than cross-dressers. _She imagined the pair of them on a fashion runway and refrained from giggling.

"You are Hannah, then? We have heard about you," the wizard explained. "Ah, but you don't want to meet us. Come, let us Apparate to London."

It was decided that he would take his niece, while his wife would take the guest. _Naturally._

In moments they were off, and it seemed Susan was more accustomed to the process than she. Her eyes were still swimming and she was unsure of how to breathe as she missed the grown witch's first sentence or so.

"-dearest, not at all. Everyone gets like this the first time through."

Hannah managed to keep from retching, but nothing else in the way of a response. Susan patted her on the back, though had she the voice to speak, it was not the expression of sympathy she would have requested.

"Ah, well, there's nothing for it," Mr. Bones decided. "There's a first time for everything and it'll be better the next time. See, look at Susan," he offered. "If you're still feeling ill in an hour, lie down a bit."

The girls nodded and thanked the pair of them as they set about their business, stepping away from what looked to be an Apparation point with reasonable haste. Hannah could imagine what might happen if someone landed right where someone else was, but her stomach suggested she refrain.

"It really does get better the second or third time," the other girl explained.

"Where did your aunt and uncle go?" she asked, refraining from asking about her parents. It was something of a sore spot.

"Back to work, I think. They're both busy people."

"My mother is working as well," Hannah provided, uncertain as to whether or not Susan was wondering. "Where do you want to go?"

"I think we could go to Madam Malkin's. Does your uniform still fit you?"

"I'm fine," she lied. In truth she hardly wore them when not necessary, and she asked an older girl to lengthen her robes once.

"Oh, well mine's getting a bit tight, and I'm looking for something to wear to the next Ministry function. My uncle's making me go." The pair of them set off in the direction of the tailor, though Hannah had shopped around for a less expensive alternative, and as a result had never bought anything there.

"I've lengthened my robes," Hannah explained. "I wouldn't think anything else would be necessary." The streets of magical London were busy enough, though it was clear they were in normal working hours. "I know they really feed us at Hogwarts-"

"My shirts have gotten a bit tight around the chest," her friend clarified, less casually than before. There was a brief silence as Hannah looked the other way, scowling a bit as her retaliatory joke failed to have the intended effect. "Toward the end of the year, I was having to undo the top button."

"I imagine that would be dreadful."

It appeared Susan would refrain from implying that all Hannah could do was imagine, and so she decided to shelve the veiled insult she had prepared, which went to the tune of asking if she needed a bigger hat. _I suppose it's fine if she just wanted to brag a bit. She wasn't really saying anything about me._

The inside of the store was an orderly affair, though from wall to wall there was plenty of color. True to the name, the establishment seemed to carry every sort of robe she could imagine, as well as a few that were entirely unknown to her. Hanging from the wall in the back, there appeared to be lengths of hide and silk, and she guessed they came from dragons and acromantulas. The old witch running the place ushered the pair of them up onto stools, despite Hannah's apparently too reserved protests. Susan held her arms out readily; in her case it took a series of taps to the shoulder by Madam Malkin, following another series of taps.

Hannah sighed as she reluctantly agreed to be measured, putting herself on display more than she really wanted. _Do I really have the body of a first-year? _If, as her mother insisted, not eating would keep her from growing, there was a case for that. Beneath her regular clothes she was skinny, decidedly more so than normal for a girl her age. She never starved herself, and her home was not of so modest means that she was suffering from malnutrition, but some time in first year she decided to eat about as much at school as she ate during the summer. Other kids she knew seemed to believe that food was always a top priority and if you had the funds for accommodations, you already had taken care of your food budget, but the truth was more complicated. There was room to eat more or less without any serious health risks and it was easier to buy more or less food than it was to buy more or less housing.

The elder witch measured both her and Susan, announcing that either of them were perfectly welcome to purchase a new uniform, which seemed to suggest neither of them needed one.

"I'm in the market for some summer dress robes."

"Have a look at the selection of fabrics, dear." Susan nodded happily and Hannah followed her off the pair of stools. It must have occurred to the other girl at some point that she had relatively modest means, so she decided to ask about it in a non-offensive way.

"What's it like to have muggle parents?"

"I don't know, what's it like to have a magical aunt and uncle?" _My father was a wizard. _Hannah mentally shrugged and decided not to mention it. If she mentioned every thought that ran through her head, she would never stop talking. Additionally, it did not change the question, not really.

"Fair enough." The brunette witch was between a white and a peach tone, though both of them looked more expensive than anything Hannah dared to touch. Looking back over her shoulder, the shop mistress was squinting in her direction. She returned her gaze to the task at hand and pointed to the white fabric. "What's it like to be blind?" Susan whispered.

"It was pretty bad. I always had to have help with things." The two of them went up to the front, where she supposed Madam Malkin was ringing the order up on the Bones family tab, or possibly writing a letter to Voldemort that she had caught the target where the Death Eaters failed before. Hannah shook her head before continuing. "I think the worst bit was waking up every day. I knew I was awake when I started moving my arms around and hit something."

She noticed they were outside.

"That sounds awful."

"I think regular blind people are better at it. Eventually, you get used to it and just go about your life." Hannah felt Susan's arms around her as she returned the hug. "The whole time I was thinking about how Evan was getting away and I couldn't do anything about it. I don't remember how long I just had to trust that I had done everything I could for Neville."

"Have you spoken to him recently?"

"No. I sent him a short letter and he just wrote back that he forgot to write me and that he'd be busy a while. His grandmother hired a tutor who might have to follow him to school." She sighed.

"That's going to make things hard," Susan offered. It was a guess, but Hannah did not mind. She smiled sadly and the moment passed as the rest of the Bones family appeared.


	3. Malfoys at the Ministry

"We express our gratitude that you would consider this proposal, Minister." His father handed something to Yaxley as he spoke. The three of them were standing before the great mesquite desk of Cornelius Fudge, above which there hung a painting, an odd one. Draco maintained his stare as the Minister blustered a response.

"Really, Lord Malfoy, there are only so many times a year we normally accept donations of this magnitude... tax reasons, you understand."

"Of course. And yet, at times like these, the concerned citizen and humble servant must work together to protect the peace and security of the joint venture of state."

Yaxley appeared to be looking over a length of parchment, as he could tell out of the corner of his eye.

"Father, can't we just buy the entire Ministry?" he asked on cue, droning like a child. The three adults in the room laughed- Lucius politely, Fudge nervously, and Yaxley only a moment too long. "I mean if we go back every year, we've got to own at least thirty or forty percent of it."

"Draco, the appointment of our dear friend was no accident. Magical Britain trusts him to make wise decisions, more even than me." Father sighed without sound. "I fear I may never escape the control of the Dark Lord. All he needed do was place me under his spell once, and forever more I shield him from his enemies by making of myself a target, even as he wastes away, friendless and without hope."

The image his lord father was spinning could not have been further from the truth. The Lord Voldemort was far from home, and it was quite possible there were no Death Eaters with him, but he would never be friendless or alone. It was for him to decide whether or not to disclose his activities to his supporters, and thus far he had elected not to do so. Only last week Selwyn caught a recruit in a lie, using Legilimency to discover he was actually a Ministry plant.

The man's death was swift, yet less than pleasant.

"Of course," the Minister uttered, returning Draco to the present in proper order. "You are aware of the Edict, I presume?"

"If I may be certain of the validity of the source, it will reach your desk by this evening. In the interest of fairness to all parties, I shall refrain from expressing my views on the matter." _If you needed to express your views on it now, you would have failed more than I could possibly comprehend._

"You don't wish to insult him, Father? I suppose that's wise," he commented quietly, though loudly enough for the man behind the desk to hear. _It's really a pity he's making me act like a first-year, but I suppose this one won't be with us long. _

It was the kind of thing that made a young man look back and scowl at his former self, but he supposed everyone was essentially in the same boat. Syltherins seemed to come to Hogwarts with the ambition to become masters of the school, for all the good it would do them. He supposed it was admirable that they had their sights set high, but before they knew anything, more often than not it made them ghastly to watch. He had refrained from chuckling at Creevey as the boy huddled in a group of friends as they tried to work out who exactly pitched his stupid muggle camera off the Astronomy tower. In the end the boy had wisely come to heel, and Draco had failed with him, though not as badly as with Harper.

He left the room at the slightest of gestures by his father, who was verbally apologizing for his rudeness. Draco doubted his own behavior would count against their cause; his whole purpose had been to distract the Minister with the same nagging thoughts that likely occupied the back of his mind. _By morning next, he might even wonder if I had been real or he had imagined me._

The young wizard scowled as he passed a mirror on his way to the public records office, whatever it was called. A passerby might have wondered if he scowled at his puerile appearance or simply because his face looked better that way, and if asked Draco would leave him to his wondering. He was not growing steadily or even... evenly enough for his liking, though there was no sense losing sleep over what a few years and nothing else would fix. For the time being, he would have to be content to curse the hair off his face. If he found a reason to have a beard, he would inform his chin.

For the past several weeks he had been catching up on legislation, Wizengamot rulings, and departmental activity, in the interest of gaining a better understanding of how the Ministry worked. Previously, it had seemed like he knew plenty, and there was a chance he knew more than most other Hogwarts students in his year, but that would not be good enough. It made for a dull summer holiday, though not as infernally dull as the last one. At the end of the school year he had momentarily worried he would be stuck reading the same material again, but there was such a thing as learning too much, as it turned out. Essentially, as he spent continually more time learning about one subject, he would learn continually less. The best amount of knowledge to have about any particular subject was not all of it, since spending as much time as that would take would almost certainly preclude him from learning anything else. In truth, he continued to despise the dullness of reading, but there were some matters that were starting to attract his attention.

The first was the plan the Death Eaters had written for the establishment of a royal family.

The purpose was quite simple. If they succeeded, it would be impossible for the average wizard to paradoxically consider himself a citizen of two different countries. If they did not succeed in pressuring total unity into existence, at least they would have some idea about how the fence-sitters were leaning.

The execution would be more complicated. Even months after the idea had been proposed, the blood purists were still uncertain about how to get the idea past the government, and of course the population. They had an idea that royal families might have come into existence by tribal chieftains taking on new significance as civilization evolved, or possibly due to religious beliefs, but there were most likely no instances of a country without a monarchy suddenly turning into one without the use of force. Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters were no strangers to the use of force, but imposing a nakedly tyrannical regime would be met with challenges in the form of armed citizens. The Dark Lord would have no trouble with any one of them, but enough of them actively resisting would make it impossible to enforce new law, and there were likely wizards with sufficient skill that two or three could kill him together. Of course, he had more important things to do than fight off challengers, and it would not be long before he decided it was not worth the effort.

At that point how he would respond was anyone's guess.

Perhaps the strangest thing he had seen in the public records was a series of reports from around the time the school year ended, which he initially thought might correlate with Evan's escape, but the dates were wrong when he went back and checked. Essentially, there had been a push for more monitoring of the Floo Network with the return of Lord Voldemort, but the law lacked teeth since there was nothing they could legally screen with it. Only if a wizard actually went through the magical records would he discover something potentially useful, and then he had to know when and where to look. Something that raised some red flags was a demonstration of underage magic at an address on a list of residences corresponding to Hogwarts students, though for a first offense there was usually nothing more than a warning, which did not warrant a response on the part of the perpetrator. It was therefore quite possible that the owl carrying the warning had simply left the letter in the room and flew back, finding no one there.

The matter interested Draco because it was shortly before the last time anyone saw Harper.

_Goldstein- he's the mastermind. Harper's only a lackey, but he's a traitor and I hope that rootless half-blood finds out the hard way._

He was perfectly aware that blood purism and the Dark Lord had better purposes for him than revenge against either of the boys, even though the blood traitor girl was probably with them, but their leader had cursed him, and as long as he was alive he was a threat. Between his other responsibilities, he had been left with little enough time to research whatever it was the curse did, whatever the curse was, but he knew enough that he would not be able to go after Goldstein himself. Killing the half-blood would fall to Creevey, unless he changed his plans. The Lord Voldemort always allowed his loyal bannermen a chance to redeem themselves.

The Malfoy heir had only been able to follow up on his investigation when not endlessly reading the records or scratching things out when new ones came in, every time insisting that it was a matter of interest to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He had never met with the department head, nor did he mean to meet her, since she was at least sympathetic to Dumbledore, but he could reasonably prevaricate that she would be interested in a few sequential counts of underage magic that might relate to the missing Hogwarts students. _Of course, I'll never report it if I find anything, but the general disinterest in the case will memory hole it for me.  
_

The initial severing charm lined up with a use of the Floo Network to the location, which was how he might have expected a thirteen year old would travel across most of Britain when time was of the essence. Going through the Network records had been a pain; it had required him to go down to the Furnace after most of the regulars had left. It had been a chore to magically fish around in this fiery web of network uses that made a functional map of the British Isles and bits of the continent, turning a wrought-iron crank to see with different angles and another to look more closely. Finding the one that had an output in the apartment the Goldstein family used, he discovered that it led back to a little fireplace somewhere in Scotland, most likely not far from Hogwarts.

_If I had to put it on a map to plan an invasion, I would go around the place and chart each residence within a ten mile radius that has a registered fireplace. The place can't really be impossible to find except for the damnable train.  
_

The trail officially went cold with the half-blood last seen in London, but there was a report of underage magic used just outside a muggle bank, and the letter detailed several uses of the shrinking charm, but there was apparently a bit of confusion at the Owlry and it was never sent. Checking with the Department of Underage magic, still pretending to be on official business, he found there was a regulation that a child had to be warned before an arrest warrant could be sent, and the standard procedure required them to wait for the owl to return with the opened letter, and apparently no one in the last thirty or so years had ever thought to not open the letter, then commit several more violations, none of which would be counted.

Draco realized that his apprenticeship really lacked a leg on which to stand, and it was really fear of his father that had employees pretend to take him seriously, but it offered him a litany of useful excuses for looking into things.

Based on the fact that the half-blood's parents lived in the muggle world, he expected the shrinking charm outside the bank had been for more efficient storage of muggle currency. If necessary, his father or Selwyn could get the information out of the bank manager, though it was almost certain that Goldstein lied about where he was going. There was little doubt he withdrew in sterling, meaning he could go anywhere in the world with an exchange counter.

How he would have gotten there was entirely uncertain at the present.

Wanting to travel as quickly as possible, there were several options. It was relatively easy to take an international floo from Magical London, though that would make his movements easier to track. At the same speed, however, he could have persuaded an adult to take him by Side-Along Apparation, something Draco had done himself multiple times. Portkeys were essentially as fast as Apparation, and designed to accommodate multiple people, but they eventually expired. This meant they had to be replaced whether or not they were used, and if they were stolen no one would particularly miss them, which was why no one sold them. They were available for essentially free use at government offices; there was only the matter of showing a form of identification. If the three escapees gained access to a portkey, it was almost certainly illegal, but there was no one particularly bothered by it. It was possible the use of a portkey would not be faster and easier than Side-Along Apparation, but there would be more complications. An adult would remember depositing the half-blood and the others at whatever remote location they requested, probably recognizing their pictures whenever they came out in the _Prophet. _

Draco almost audibly snorted, remembering the headline.

"Dumbledore loses three children; Parents appalled!" he muttered, amused. He briefly cast a glance around the office, where adult wizards and witches were working at what appeared to be closer to actual desks.

Deciding that he would simply have to expect more information to come out, he returned to his duties, making note of recent proposed legislation. Most notably including the Edict of Wand Warding, an idea that had been worked out in the Improper Use of Magic Office long before it was formally proposed, the stack before him seemed to possess a jewel of the collection, what with the care that had gone into everything else. He resolved to slog through the rest all the same, mostly since he already knew about the Edict and what it contained.

Essentially, it was a power-grab for the Ministry, though the plan to grab power was by making things easier for Death Eaters and common criminals. Everyone else's wand would be legally warded, ostensibly to monitor the use of dark magic, though really to snap the wands of those who would prefer not to have theirs warded. He had little doubt the proposition would be followed by many more in the effort of cutting down on the illegal wand trade, which would mean more paperwork. Regrettably, there was absolutely no one in the entire Ministry less overqualified for the task of processing it. _I wouldn't have to be doing this sort of thing If I still had Creevey- or Harper for that matter. Of course, Father could be assigning me to more edifying work, but I imagine he aims to redirect my pride again.  
_

Pride was a central concept in the House of Malfoy, and all heirs were raised with it. _Pride comes naturally to men with strong and pure blood, Draco. _The conversation had taken place only a few days ago, the pair of them walking into the Wizengamot Chamber, where the functionaries were whispering about an upcoming hearing. _A man is only foolish to take pride in the wrong things- that which can be separated from him; that which is not his own. _

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and apparently everyone else was similarly distracted. Draco scowled at Hong's turned back as he rose to receive the visitor himself. _Bastard knows he's closer to the damn door._

"Oh, hi-" the new arrival uttered quickly, looking around suddenly, then down at a scowling blonde wizard. He was a young man, though not quite so young as himself, and if anything he had grown into his boots. He had an impossibly dull look to his face and garish red hair. _I'll be damned._

"Yes?" he asked, his mind continually repeating the tenants of propriety all gentleman of his blood were to observe.

"The Office of Improper Use of Magic has announced it will be present at the upcoming Wizengamot summit regarding the Victims of Blood Purism." Draco stared blankly. He supposed, in context, his expression conveyed that he was not familiar with what the Hufflepuffs had put together to impotently bemoan the efforts of the Heir of Slytherin, but it also did not convey his unbounded rage. "It's the student group, from Hogwarts, about the recent deaths and..." the wizard in the doorway started to clarify, his expression decreasingly confident. "You must know them, really, you simply can't be older than-"

"I've heard," the Malfoy heir managed without shouting. "Why do you make announcements like this?"

"The new clerk of official proceedings is required to make a note of all those expected to attend with the issues each participant will bring to the table-" the red-haired wizard started before pausing, his squint narrowing on a conclusion. "Wait, aren't _you _the-"

"No, why do you make announcements like this in general?" Draco asked, drawing a chuckle out of a few of the employees in the room, though Hong remained focused on his work.

"If you have any further complaints for the Office of Improper Use of Magic, do submit them in triplicate to my desk during normal working hours," the older wizard offered with the absolute height of politeness and nadir of goodwill. The mere concept amused the young Slytherin to a modicum of respect, and he took the file with the faintest smile before the other wizard disappeared and the scene ended.

The employees of the office were already back at work and Draco decided he would do the same, with the relish of the pride he could generate in the humblest of circumstances.


	4. The Games Begin

Since the trip ended up being a short one, Ron frequently found himself without much to do.

The time before school was to start was short, and it seemed no one wanted to do anything but prepare, even the twins, who were usually more inclined to put things off until the last minute. _Well, I guess it really is the last minute._

In Egypt, Bill had thought he would enjoy senet, the game from ancient times, but he ended up liking tâb, an import from the Arab world. The rules were somewhat more complex, and he was starting to appreciate complexity for some reason, or at least it seemed that way. Hannah had been good enough at the game once her eyes were working again, and oddly enough it seemed she wanted to go out less than before. The way she played resembled a process of coming up with a random strategy, trying it, and then coming up with a new one whether or not the last one worked. It provided an exceptional challenge, more so than Percy who had the gall to look up strategies in the library, eliciting a groan from each of his brothers except Bill, who only found it funny.

In what fairness he could manage for the stuffy graduate of Hogwarts, he had not been able to play as much as Ron did, offering to help Hannah play while she was blind. She rarely won, but it was impressive enough that she was able to keep up with him, even with Percy's occasional suggestion. _I reckon it's better for her that she got to do something in all that time._

Hannah had been able to perform a few spells without the benefit of her sight, but usually she confined herself to locking and unlocking the bathroom door. He doubted she would be of any use if they were attacked and took it upon himself to look out for threats while Percy took her everywhere by the elbow, a task he was glad not to have himself. _Witches are getting weird of late. No idea why._

In the evenings and whenever else he could, he would practice spells, relatively sure that it was all legal in the magical bit of Giza. His potions were up to his standards, which he knew were not as high as Snape's, but such was the best he could do. He found himself at a loss as to how he could ever measure up to that wizard's whims, more so why he would ever want to. On the subject of potions, he had managed to find a rather interesting brew in a local shop, promising to greatly increase his speed, though it was 'probably bogus' in the word of the twins. They found a few things, but promised not to reveal anything, lest they ruin the surprise.

"Well, it'll still be a surprise for the victim. I'm not telling anyone," he had said, possibly the only one speaking English in the street.

"I'm sure you wouldn't, dear brother," Fred sympathized.

"That would rather defeat us, I'm afraid," George agreed.

At home things were decidedly more boring, though perhaps that was better than whatever his brothers had in mind. As usual, there were things to buy for school, so as usual he went through Percy's old books, since the twins had already helped themselves to Bill's and Charlie's. _The old Weasley standby- I'd say it's a shame they never leave anything for me, but it'll usually be in a state I can't even describe by the time they're done.  
_

What he could not take-me-down from his elder brothers, he mostly already had, though it seemed Snape would be requiring an alembic in addition to a cauldron this year, and he would need a crystal ball to get through Divination. He would have more of a choice as the years went on, but it seemed he had to take at least a year of the subject, and could not imagine any sort of exception being written into the rules. Hermione believed the pedagogical philosophy at Hogwarts was to provide a general education in magic, at least in the first few years, so that students could focus on what they wanted to study after that.

His thoughts were interrupted by his mother shouting from downstairs.

"Coming," he called back, without having moved. _Still can't find Scabbers anywhere, so I reckon packing his stuff isn't important. _As he went down the stairs, stepping on the edges to keep them from creaking, he decided it would be sad if the old thing died, but most rats rarely lived for twelve years anyway. He made the mistake of telling an older Gryffindor at one point, who openly mocked him for believing it. Apparently, it was more plausible to some that his parents had simply been replacing the rat every so often, cutting off the same toe every time, and Ron might have considered it, but apparently the twins knew more than he did, which was enough to confirm it.

"There's a letter for you. I don't have the faintest idea how long it's been here, so you had better open it."

"Alright, alright, prob'ly just the school governors making rules against being this poor," he muttered, earning a nasty glare from his mother. She and his father had been over the exaggerated importance of money than enough times for him to recite it, which meant it did not bear repeating. _What's mad is that there's _any _lecture she thinks doesn't bear repeating._

The letter began without any particular fanfare, meaning it was not from the school.

_Dear Ron the madman,_

_Thank you for being my friend all year. I'll thank you to still be my friend after I wasn't available all last year. I visited Silver, who says he went to see me while I wasn't well. He might have said he helped with the idea for my treatment, I can't say for sure._

The red-haired wizard stopped reading immediately. _Malfoy's been helping him? Why? Does he still bet he's going to get something out of it? _He reread the previous section. _Is he going to get something out of it?_

_My gran says that I'm not to have visitors during the summer, except my tutor. I guess that's fine; she's an interesting lady, Hestia something, though I'm not meant to call her by her given name. How is your life? I heard about what happened at school, I can't say I remember it all, but I did hear about it. I heard you and Hannah were in a bad way when the year let out, so I guess tell me about that, unless you're dead.  
_

_Love, Neville. _

_P.S. I think my tutor might be coming to school with me; I'll check._

As there were no other letters for him from his friends, he supposed Hermione knew about his trip to Egypt and Neville was content to wait for him to respond.

_Neville,_

_Thank you for your patience. What exactly did Malfoy do? Malfoy was one of the people supporting the Heir of Slytherin and when Hermione and Hannah went after him while I was in the Hospital Wing, Malfoy and the Heir fought them and Hannah ended up blinded, though she's better now. Malfoy helped the Heir get away. He can't be trusted, and also Padma can't be trusted if you see her again. She's been hanging around him a lot.  
_

_Ron_

Unwilling to include the same endearing niceties that his friend most likely did out of habit, he decided to go ahead and send the letter, since it had been a while and the family owl could use the exercise.

"Errol!" he called, finding the bird outside. "Got a letter for you." The great grey glanced at the address and looked away, pretending to be deaf. "Cheeky old bastard, don't think I don't know it's far. If I hear a peep out of Neville about you breaking things at Longbottom Manor, I'll send a letter to Hermione in France, just for the hell of it."

The owl took the letter and flew off, looking back only to show a bewildered expression.

"I reckon he'll get there s'long as he doesn't get lost," The young wizard said to no one in particular. He turned to go back inside, but then remembered he had to de-gnome the garden. "Merlin, I don't know how nobody's shot him thinking he's a flying chicken." He cast a silent levitation charm at the nearest gnome, having practiced the spell more than any other. "I reckon it'll be about ten minutes before he stops on a treetop for a ten-minute break."

Tossing the gnomes he found into a barrel, he decided to carry it up into the air on a broom to throw the contents further. Considering they were really only wild things trying to survive, the Weasley family had never allowed killing them, not as far back as anyone could remember, but if he threw them far enough, he could at least make them the Fawcetts' problem. The twins started marking them with color change charms to see if the same ones came back, and it appeared they never did.

"If I see any of you lot again, I'll fly about eight feet higher before I toss you!" he shouted as he tossed them out away from the property after turning each one red. _Probably confuses the hell out of the Diggorys._

Having avoided a trip to London before going to school with his poor man's thrift, he caught the twins listening to a radio bulletin in the yard. Flying close without touching down, he was able to listen in without giving away his position.

"Already reports out of Muggle Burma concern a Dark Mark in the air... Minister Fudge insists it isn't enough to say that... has returned." The statement elicited laughter from Fred and George. "Local astronomers...

"Oh, like it's anyone else. He's cute when he's squirming."

"You lack imagination, George. It might be a secret admirer."

"Of course, it could have been a second-year from Hogwarts."

"It could be both, dear brother."

"Too true, as I mustn't forget."

Ron wondered why it was a certainty when there had been followers of Voldemort who would be likely to act in his name if they heard he had come back, even if that turned out not to be true. _Radio's really only a bit better than the paper. Even when the facts are right, everything else is wrong.  
_

Rather than disturb his brothers, whom he had a mind to avoid, he thought about taking off to look for Ginny again, as he had for the past month or so, but Charlie had a better chance of finding her than anyone else and there was really nothing for it. He had tried talking to her friends on the last day, but the girls who were remotely willing to speak to him told him that they were just as surprised. Apparently, she had neither given them nor left behind any indication that she was going to take a holiday, much less where. There were the obvious places, of course, but there was really little doubt they were hiding far from Britain. He had spoken to his father about it, and apparently the Ministry commanded one of the largest and most extensive staff of law enforcement, wizard for wizard. If the Headmaster had been correct('and there is no doubt of that, son') in guessing that their goal was to be away from the war for the foreseeable future, they would have picked some place where they would not be so easily recovered.

_People at school are going to act like it's my fault for looking out for her. Well, just the ones who don't blame me for not doing a good enough job at it._

First year had been enough to teach Ron the futility of reputation. It was easy enough to be admired, even easier to be liked, and to a degree one could manufacture respect. _You just have to get it down what people like, then do that._

His brothers knew him, and respected him only a little, which was fine, since they ran circles around him on most things. Bill and Charlie were capable and successful, Percy was getting there and knew how to navigate the Ministry, and the twins were brilliant in their own way. He could accept not being respected by his betters, and those who knew nothing about them, because at least that made sense. What had annoyed him was the other students, though most of them had not liked him in first year either. By the end of the second he simply could not afford to be worried about it; it made no sense, there was nothing for it, and he refused to appeal to people who disrespected him or disliked him for stupid reasons.

These thoughts were still on his mind as he was on his way with the twins to King's Cross in London. As they had the previous year, they would be going without parental guidance, since Ron knew the way and it was unlikely Fred and George would be able to trick him into getting onto the wrong train. Last year he had been responsible for keeping them from tricking Ginny, though they did not usually pull jokes on her. _Reckon it's because they'd get it back a dozen times worse from Dad._

The platform was as crowded as ever, which provided the challenge of staying close to each other while navigating through it, remembering not to use magic. He wondered if muggles ever dreamed up fantastical solutions for simple problems like crowds, but he doubted it mattered. From what he had seen of muggle films, it was ambiguous- his father thought a slow Saturday in Egypt was an appropriate time to watch _The Wizard of Oz _in Arabic. It was illegal, of course, since the televisions were officially under the control of the muggle government, but an enlightening experience nonetheless. Apparently the nonmagical believed magic was basically not real, with the wizards and likely the witches only being capable of things that could be accomplished by other means, though this was less obvious in the beginning. Ron did not pride himself on his ability to divine meaning out of books and film, since he really did not care for either.

By the end of the film, however, he could not escape the feeling that there was some biting criticism written into it.

"Hey, Ron," an unfamilar voice called from behind as he handed his trunk to the wizard loading the train, who groaned for the absence of a featherlight charm rather than apply one himself.

"Who are you?" he asked, seeing the other boy's eyebrow raise as he turned. Dressed in muggle clothes, he had no idea who most of his classmates were.

"My name's Boot. I'm a friend of Hermione's."

"We haven't met," Ron obviated, trying a tone more polite than the last as the pair of them boarded the train. They were on early enough, so they had their pick of the compartments. He decided against going to the back as he had in the past, in hopes that he could see Hermione or possibly Hannah on her way down the aisle. _Hermione could tell me whether or not this Boot character is lying. Hannah could take a reasonable guess, but I reckon that's better than nothing._

In a moment they were in the compartment as the usual parade of students went by, though they kept the window clear.

"Where are you from, originally?"

"Ottery St. Catchpole, you?"

"Plymouth. Half my family's in America." _Well, three of my immediate family members are probably in three different countries.  
_

"I still don't know you," Ron decided, having failed to previously communicate that. Ordinarily classmates who did not know him also did not approach him with the oddly apparent desire to be his friend.

"Well, what would you like to know?"

"What are my twin brothers' names?" _You made it too easy for me._

"Fred and George. I do know a bit about you. That's why I wanted to get involved with you and your friends."

The Gryffindor thought about it a minute.

"Okay, well, how do you know Hermione?" _  
_

"I talked to her on and off ever since we were sorted. We have a kind of revolving study group- it's a tradition as old as time, I think. She and I were what I would call casual friends or acquaintances. I've since had to move away from some of the other Ravenclaws, and after some personal deliberation, I've decided to join your group."

"How do I know you're the real Terry?" _It's what Hermione would do if she were here. Even if he's a decent fellow, I need to know I'm looking at him._

"Oh, we talked about this, yes," the other boy said after what looked to be a moment of confusion. "She told me about the passwords you use."

"Well that's a real dropped quaffle on her end, Merlin. How the hell did she know it was you in a bloody letter?"

"Terry was able to answer several of my questions from our study group. I thought it was the most practical choice." Looking up, he saw a familiar, bushy haired witch.

"No one asked you, Hermione."


	5. Full Steam Ahead

Hermione wondered if her conversation with Ron about their respective trips gave Terry the idea that the two of them were well-traveled, an especially wrong impression given that for both of them the forays were a one time thing. She had some idea of the Weasleys' financial situation, mostly from her friend's complaints on the matter, though her own was not significantly better. In the normal world, her parents had an incredible disposable income, but they were both conservative spenders, meaning they put around half of it away, and the rest apparently did not go far in getting wizarding currency. Her knowledge of economics was more limited than she would have liked at times, though she did not regret that most of the time she spent studying she read about magic. She was sure there was someone else who knew about why the exchange rate was so unfavorable for the nonmagical, and at some point she would have to ask.

"I have a question," Terry stated, bringing her out of her thoughts. "Why did you guys hang out with Draco?"

Ron looked out the train window as noises could be heard from outside.

"I didn't like him from the beginning."

"Well, I didn't like him _per se_, I just didn't realize he was so... bad," she admitted. Hannah joined them and just let her continue. She seemed to have a writing pad of some sort, though she set it up in the luggage area. "To be honest I thought that the wizarding world was just full of incorrect stereotypes and because he was on the receiving end of the stereotypes, I thought he and his family must be better than people thought. I know better than to think that they were bad _because_ people thought it, but sometimes I guess people are right." She sighed, thinking to herself. "I think what I should do from now on is I should at least consider people's perceptions."

Ron seemed disappointed that she continued to think little of what he had been taught, even when it turned out to be right, some of the time. _He'll grow out of it. If we meet anyone from Slytherin who isn't evil, it'll be all for the best._

"Do you think he's really a bad guy, or is he just on the wrong side?" Terry asked. He had a penchant for hard questions, she knew.

"Well, you have to be kind of bad to be on that side," Ron answered quickly. "You have to ignore everything that's wrong with what You-Know-Who did, does, will do, you get the idea. Well, that, or I reckon you could totally approve of it," he thought aloud.

"Draco's no older than we are," Hermione insisted. "He's been influenced, he's taken to it, but it wasn't nearly as bad when Voldemort wasn't back." The red-haired wizard flinched a little, but said nothing.

"If you're only not a Death Eater when your dad's old best friend isn't around, you're still bad," Ron argued.

"Well, your father never forced you to do anything, so you don't know what that's like," she objected back. _Terry and Hannah are staring at us. _"Anyway, it's clear that he's not to be trusted now, after all that he's actually done."

The Ravenclaw witch wondered if Ron was thinking that her father regularly gave her orders, though she had not meant to imply that. From a glance in his direction as the boy from her House was introducing himself to Hannah, it appeared the implication did not hit home with him, though that was really just a guess. Though Ron never particularly hid the way he felt about things, or he never seemed to, Hermione never picked up the mystical ability to divine what someone was thinking just by looking. Other girls her age had always seemed better at it, or at least more confident in their predictions, and it never struck her as logical, especially because they called it 'reading the signs'. Thinking on it, Hannah would probably be the first real friend she made in a girl her age.

It had occurred to her during the summer that she had been rather quick to become friends with the Hufflepuff when she was really someone Ron knew better and, well, not very similar to her. To complete the picture, she would have liked to be able to say it occurred to her while she sat under a parasol on a terrace looking out over a range of green mountains, but the truth was that she was on a train a while and had little to do but think about things. _If I had to name one thing that made me trust her it was that Ron trusted her. He doesn't trust anyone. _Her face became downcast a moment, but no one noticed.

"I didn't know Neville, no. What's he like?" Terry was asking, looking around to clarify that an answer from anyone would be acceptable.

"Neville is kind," she started without prompting, aware either of her other friends could have answered. _I could say he was forgetful, but I should start with his central trait. _"He's always open and trusting, to a fault some would say. He takes people seriously when no one will take him seriously. He gives people more chances than they deserve when no one ever gave him one." She supposed Ron might imagine she was thinking of Draco for someone that their friend gave a chance undeserved, but the truth was that she was thinking of Ebony. _I was about to kill her. _She looked down. _Could I have done it? _"Sorry, that was a bit much," she admitted.

"It's fine," Hannah said. "I feel the same way."

Something clicked.

Hermione never went looking for signs to read, but she would know one that obvious when she saw it.

"He was a good friend," Ron opined, using the past tense. _That's fair, I suppose. It was mostly two years ago when we were interacting with him._

"Is he going to be back this year?" Terry asked. Hannah explained their friend's situation, what with the tutor and how little time he would likely have to himself, if any. "Are the Inspectors going to be back?"

"We'll have to look out for them," Hermione answered, guessing that he meant 'are they going to be back illegally', since the Department of Mysteries was only meant to send them once every three years. "If they come here, there will most likely be some ridiculous distraction to keep us from realizing it." _Dumbledore said he would never let them return, legally or otherwise. At the same time, we have to be on guard. He can't do everything himself. _She took advantage of a momentary pause to lock the compartment door.

"Terry, your word can be Plymouth." Ron muttered as he stared out of the compartment window, probably trying to see if there were anyone listening. _That's probably what we need to do.  
_

"Does that mean I say it, or I need to recognize-"

"You'll be saying it. Hannah, you can say some kind of sweet, since you know all of them."

Hermione did not know what the red-haired wizard was referencing and decided it was probably something that happened while she was petrified.

"Ideally, the words need to be something you could possibly say in a normal conversation, something we would recognize, but also something that no one would guess," she elaborated. "Try to use your word in the first sentence when you run into one of us."

"Does anyone know about it?"

"I don't know if anyone has figured out the code words," she answered, thinking about it. "I know it sounds simple and I know Ebony knows we've been using them, well, so does Draco for that matter, but we are hardly important, interesting targets. There are not a lot of people who want to listen in on our conversations."

"It wouldn't do anything against the Imperius," Ron muttered. "We made it up mostly with the Inspectors in mind. At the time, they were using Polyjuice to change into our appearances."

"Polyjuice?" Hannah asked. "Is that a drink?"

"It's the slang term for Polymorphist's Jesting Juice," Hermione explained. "It's a complicated brew, but most third-years could do it. The challenges are the time it takes and the ingredients required."

"Polyjuice isn't the real word? I thought it was a bit whimsical..." The Gryffindor trailed off.

"People use informal terms all the time without realizing it. If they use them often enough, those terms become the recognized terms."

"In any case, be sure not to forget it. Surprised as all hell Neville hasn't forgotten his, but that's neither here nor there." _He probably visited when he returned from Egypt or something. Honestly it's more impressive he would remember to use the code word than that he would remember what it was._

There was a lurching sound coming from the front of the train.

"We're stopping?" Ron asked, looking out the window. "Why?"

Hermione repressed the need to get up and investigate.

"It's most likely nothing," she insisted. "We can't even be out of England yet. Maybe there's been an owl." _Hogwarts Express is faster than a normal train, but it hasn't been nearly as long as it was in the past. We should really stay put.  
_

"I'm going to look," the red haired-wizard decided, quite possibly ignoring her. "If you're not concerned, don't bother," he said without particular emphasis. Terry went after him, hand on his wand.

"We're going to have to go after them, aren't we?" Hannah asked as soon as the two of them were out of the compartment door. "I mean, either it's nothing and we get to say 'I told you so' or it's something and they might need us."

"Hannah, one of those things is more likely than the other," Hermione responded, annoyed. Her friend turned her eyes to the same window through which her own were staring. The scene was placid, though there was something odd about where they were stopped. _A field? There's not much around here for several kilometers, I would think. _She had read that the train essentially traveled through a magical space-bending tunnel, meaning that it should be impossible for anyone to walk onto the tracks. _If it's not only that I don't know what it would be. All the same, I don't know how trains work, meaning I can't get it started again if the conductor is for some reason unwilling or unable._

The Ravenclaw reapplied the locking charm on the door, making a mental note to ask Terry how he got through the first one.

Several awkward minutes passed as the pair of them listened to hushed conversation going on in the other compartments, the words indistinct. The train was designed with private conversation in mind, but if you were totally silent you could usually at least tell if you were adjacent to an occupied compartment or not.

There was a knock.

"Yes?" she called out as she manually unlocked the door, peering through the glass at a man in a black and red uniform.

"The train will resume momentarily. Please remain in your compartments."

"What is it?" Hannah asked, her curiosity likely winning some invisible battle.

"Please, I don't want to tell everyone."

The employee was away without waiting to hear whether or not they found the excuse acceptable.

"If it were a serious emergency, he wouldn't be going down the aisle apologizing for the wait," Hermione said. "It's nothing. I don't know what Ron and Terry are doing, but most likely they will both be back in a few minutes, then act like they had a good reason."

Perhaps not surprisingly, it was more than a few minutes and during this time Hannah was staring at her.

"What?"

Silence answered.

"When I said a few minutes-"

"Hermione, when something's not terribly likely, you don't just throw it out the window. You don't put a baby in the backseat of a car without buckling her in- that's- that's just a total failure of being a mother. A car accident isn't likely, losing a pen that you keep in your schoolbag isn't likely, but you shouldn't be equally afraid of those things, you should be way more afraid of a car accident." The other girl kept her voice mostly even as she spoke, but her eyes never moved.

"That's just a fear that people have, Hannah," Hermione objected. "All throughout history it's been one thing after another that was supposed to end the world- this kind of paranoia persists even now-"

"Fine." The Hufflepuff grabbed her writing pad from the overhang, and made a 'v' of her first two fingers on the side of it facing Hermione, something the brunette witch only just noticed before she disappeared, casting the unlocking charm. _Clever. Did she rehearse that one? _Hermione folded her arms, exhaling a long breath.

She waited by herself a moment before a lurching sound rang out again and the train was moving. _Well, that was a bit of a curiosity and I'm sure it will make a fine story for someone. All the same, it was resolved without my involvement.  
_

Unexpectedly, her friends did not rejoin her as she had thought. _Do they think I'm actually going to say 'I told you so'? I grew out of that in first- well, second year._

Deciding that some of them might actually be petty enough to join another compartment to spite her, especially if they predicted she would be proud of herself- _I suppose that's fair... -_she got up and looked through the glass, remembering she had not reapplied the lock. To her surprise, Draco stared back at her.

"_Adhereo," _she muttered, casting the sticking charm Hannah had learned as an extra method of security. _Most people expect the door to be locked, but not stuck. _The Slytherin on the other side of the glass made a face as she locked the door, noting that he was casting a 'finite' on the sticking charm. As he scowled and cast the unlocking charm, Hermione reapplied the sticking charm. _He's attacked me before- there's no telling what he would do here, even with as many witnesses as the train affords.  
_

"No need to worry, Granger, we really only wish to talk," a voice said from behind him. Unable to tell who it was, she had no inclination to believe the words. As if to spite her expectations, they came from Colin Creevey. _He's a second-year. He was in the Hospital Wing at one point when Ron was in there.  
_

"What are you still doing with him?" Hermione asked, her curiosity escaping her control. The young wizard had not admitted who it was who beat him to a pulp, meaning it was almost certainly Crabbe and Goyle. "Your parents are muggles! You went to remedial summer courses-"

"The wizarding world will be restored to its former glory by those born high and low, that they have the conviction is all that is necessary," the boy argued, anger evident. "Those who remain idle will see it restored or perish, unconcerned are they with its future and history."

His manner of speech was something she should have expected, given what little she knew about him. _A year ago he was defending the preservation of the Empire._

"Colin, there are people with plans, plans that they say will restore the glory of the wizarding world, and I honestly don't know whether or not they will- I only know they don't include people like you or me," she managed, thinking of it for the first time. She braced herself and crouched behind the door. _If they get in, I'll see it coming. I need to learn some wards. _"The Heir went after me last year- he probably only didn't attack you because you're a Slytherin."

Malfoy laughed.

"The Heir values the loyal, mudblood- whether born or converted," he explained. "The Dark Lord is the same way, as he himself is a half-blood." _He's lying. They have a plan to exterminate us. If Evan had taken over Hogwarts, I would never have been roused from petrification. _"Enough of that, though-" Draco interjected, his mood shifting suddenly. "Where is Anthony Goldstein?"

"If he told me where he was going before leaving, don't you think I would have told someone before now? Ron's sister is with them!"

"Harper went along as well, though it is not for love that we would reclaim him," Creevey explained maliciously, without stepping out of the diction.

"You're going to punish him like Draco punished you?" Hermione asked in disbelief. _Where is everyone- Ron and Hannah could take these two easily, even without Terry..._

"We shall punish him with untold severity, in manners and by means of which we have not yet conceived!"

The boy's voice cracked as he spoke, causing her to laugh, though she kept her awareness.

"We gain nothing by remaining here," the Malfoy scion decided. _You mean my backup is probably on its way? Not a bad guess, Draco. _"Creevey, to me," he commanded. _Is he a dog? Did he really respond to that? _

The Ravenclaw witch sighed, thinking to herself. She had never been desperate for the approval of any other person, and she supposed her parents had raised her that way. For that matter, except for her teachers, she really never wanted anyone's respect or attention. She had no illusions about boys and girls her age, getting into fights and gossiping; they were as full of flaws as she was. _At the same time... even with everything he can't do properly... I wouldn't mind it if Neville spoke well of me.  
_

She sank back into the seat, not looking at the door.

For the rest of the trip Hermione saw nothing of her mortal enemy and his dog, but she saw nothing of her friends all the same.


	6. The New Professor, Round Three

Retrospectively, Hannah had been a bit impulsive in telling Hermione off, but it would not do to go and apologize when she had been right. She imagined apologizing, then having to apologize to Evan and Malfoy, then having to apologize to Voldemort for imagining his moving the prior above the latter on his list of favorite second-years, though if he had one, it would now have to include Creevey, and the other two would have to be moved to a list of favorite third years. _It's more likely he has a list headed with 'Sorted in 1991' and another for 'Sorted in 1992'; then there's no need to change the heading or move the entries._

Ron and Terry looked somewhat uneasy and she asked them what was on their minds.

"Why didn't Hermione come with you?" the Ravenclaw asked. The three of them were in a compartment toward the rear of the train. He and Ron had made their way to the front, where they had been able to get out of the train, the better to see what was had the employees talking in hushed tones. When they made it out in front of the engine, staying close to the train despite the heat still coming off it, they saw a group of employees including the conductor standing around something. The sight of a boot on the ground had made Terry's stomach lurch, because he figured it was a body.

She found the pair of them by staring out one of the front windows, though the front door had been closed since they sneaked out. Seeing the employees moving to board again as they resolved whatever it was they were doing, she imagined the pair of them being caught out, or worse, left out as the train set to moving again. Breaking the glass with a knockback jinx, she shouted for them to run to the back of the first car, where the door could be opened from the inside.

The boys ran outside as she went around the students absently milling about in the hall, including a pair of Slytherins she recognized with a scowl, trying to get to the door. Regrettably, they had arrived before she did and the train was starting again, lurching back slightly before it lurched forward, causing them to have to jump off.

"No, don't run to the next one!" Hannah shouted pointlessly as they went to the second car. It was possible that they would get someone else to let them in back there, but unlikely. Forcing herself through the crowd, the sounds of the other stutdents' disapproval with her method of getting past them followed her. Wincing, she tried to open the door at the back of the second car, but it was locked from the inside, and Ron and Terrance were not on the other side. Deciding they had gone to the end, she settled in for a bit of a run, avoiding the mass of Hufflepuffs in the middle who seemed to be having a meeting. She caught them at last at the caboose, the whistle ringing out over the sound of the wheels clacking on the tracks.

Shouting indistinctly, between the three of them they managed to get Ron in through the door, then Terry, who had been hanging on as if with a vice grip.

"Thanks, Hannah," Ron breathed as they regained their breath.

"What would you do without me?" she asked, pleased that it worked out. She imagined her friends going around the country looking to borrow a cup of Floo power, as though Britain were a great magical neighborhood.

"Probably floo in, I plan to keep a stock of powder on me until I learn to Apparate," the Ravenclaw muttered in response, regaining his words.

_Well, that's pretty close to what I had imagined._

Presently, Hannah told them that their other friend had not wished to come with her, having thought it was nothing. The pair of them seemed to consider the validity of the reasoning, which she had given in a hopefully fair enough perspective. The blonde witch imagined they would react rather differently if she told them that Hermione was a vampire and needed to feed.

"I guess it turned out not to be much, but we won't hear of it at school," Ron said, having already told his and Terry's side of the story. "Curiosity get the better of you?"

"Not really."

"I figured you for a curious one," Terry filled in. "Always seem to have questions, wondering about things." _That's observant. Has he been watching me?_

"Well, I was only a bit curious. I was mostly concerned, since the two of you weren't back."

Again the pair of them seemed to evaluate the reasoning, silently and each without prompting from the other. _Well, that settles it. He's at least been watching Ron._

"How long was too long for us to be back?" Ron asked.

"It wasn't a definite time!" she responded, keeping from shouting. "It was just... a feeling I had."

"Prob'ly why Hermione didn't follow you," he guessed. "She wouldn't really jump at-"

"Why are you taking her side?!" Hannah's fists were balled, though she remained seated. "I didn't just tell her I had a feeling-"

"Okay, well, why did she not want to follow you?" Terry asked. _They don't seem to care that I went for them- I mean, he had a plan, but I went for them because I care..._

"I mean... she didn't really have a reason, she just assumed she was right like you're doing now! Well, I thought you didn't have any Floo powder because who carries it around and it would have been a disaster if you were just stuck outside the train, borrowing and bogarting your way to Scotland, if you can even _find _Hogwarts-"

"Keep it down in here," a calm voice ordered, its owner opening the compartment door. A fifth or sixth-year witch stood there, staring at them for a moment. "You don't want me to tell the new professor whose loud voices were interrupting our conversation."

"Fine," Hannah shot back, not apologizing. The older witch seemed satisfied and left. "She told me there was no real chance you were in trouble."

"Okay," Ron responded, just as quietly.

"But going on what I knew, it was a small chance of a disaster."

The explanation seemed to register with Terry more than Ron, but that was fine. _As long as someone understands me..._

"No, that makes sense. You calculate the probability of something bad happening, then multiply it by how bad it is," he explained. "Try assigning a value to how much you would like something in galleons." he directed to Ron, who seemed to be having trouble with the word 'multiply'.

"Arithmancy isn't my best class-" _You don't have a lot of money either._

"Okay, well, it works with smaller units as well," the Ravenclaw continued. "How many sickles would you be willing to pay for a pumpkin pasty if you had ten?"

"Probably three." _I think that's less than what they cost. I guess he wouldn't buy one at regular price.  
_

"So if you had a fifty percent chance of losing it, it's like losing a sickle and a half."

Ron seemed to consider the explanation, but said nothing more.

"Who's the new professor, anyway?" Hannah asked, breaking the silence.

"Some old bitch from the Ministry, I heard," Ron answered rather crudely. "Not Ebony, at least. All the same, Dad had some choice words about her."

"Wait, they're not going to help us, but they're still going to control us?" she fired back, trying to keep her voice down. _Whoever made up the rule about not being loud on trains obviously didn't think to make a rule about not revealing too many things that make my head spin._

"That's what they think helping us is," Terry said in a darker tone than normal for him. "If Evan had been caught, we wouldn't have been in half the mess of last year. Of course, that's not really why they're here, but that's how they got it through."

"Well, why don't they just call it what it is?" Hannah asked. "What's the point of covering everything up and obscuring their plans?"

"I forgot you weren't raised in this world," the Ravenclaw started. "Well, it's probably pretty similar in the muggle world, but they can't just go around telling people what they really mean to do, since there are enough people who would oppose Hogwarts being controlled by the Ministry. Think about it, if you were trying to kill the Malfoys, how would you do it?"

A hundred and one by a hundred and one possibilities came to mind.

"I'd poison them with something they can't detect." _My mother said there are a lot of things that are deadly in the world, like death caps and may lilies. _She remembered that she asked if she could put plants in her mouth far from where the bad sort grew, and she remembered the way her mother shook her head. Beyond the little wood where they were hiking, beyond England, beyond Europe the world teemed with poisons of all descriptions. In a Potions book she learned about the renowned alchemist Paracelsus, who had an interesting view on poisons.

_All things are poisons, for there is nothing without poisonous qualities. What separates a poison from medicine is the dose._

"That might work. I was thinking something legal," Terry explained. "If you were trying to kill them by passing laws-"

"It's not so easy with poisons anyway," Ron muttered, interjecting. Hannah remembered he knew something of potions, more than most of the year.

"Well, if I had to kill them by passing a law, I would think the fastest way would be to pass a law that doesn't allow white haired evil people," she responded to the modified challenge, annoyed for the 'inside the box' look at things.

"I'm sure it would. The trouble is, they would see it coming. They may not have a great amount of friends, but there are more people who want them alive than dead. Once they see it coming, they can address the plan as it is."

"Well, I could make myself the head of the 'Who Lives and Who Dies' Department."

"Better, but people would realize how much power you would have from the start. If you tried to make yourself a dictatrix or anyone who has entirely too much power, there are recourses people could use against you."

"Like what? I was under the impression the Ministry was all-powerful."

"It's one they like to give you. Anyway, the first thing people would do is use other members of the sitting government against you, like the Supreme Undersecretary. We'll call that Plan A; it's all normal politics."

"What if I control them? What if they support me?"

"Then people trying to remove you implement Plan B, waiting for the term to expire and appointing someone else. It's slower, but still not a costly move."

"Okay, and what if I do away with appointments and elections?"

"Plan C. They take to the streets, organize boycotts, strikes, get the _Prophet _on their side; anything to put pressure on you. The short version is that crime is up and the economy gets worse. They don't like this plan, but it's still better than the alternative."

"They use the alternative if I break up the protests with force?" Hannah guessed. Terry nodded.

"Using force might be the only way to get them off Plan C, but they'll go to Plan D- highest cost, highest chance of working. They'll kill your enforcers, Hit Wizards, Aurors, Death Eaters, anyone. They'll drum up the rustics and watch them fall line by line to whatever half-starved fighting force you can manage. Eventually it will fall; numbers win every time."

"It's too late to start snapping wands?" she asked without any real doubt.

"At this point they're basically an enemy army," Ron explained. "Might be that some people aren't actively fighting you, but you can't take anyone's wands. They'd respond the same way as if you try to kill them."

There was a short silence while she imagined the whole series of plans being implemented in a sequence. Each of them would be an effective way of dealing with her single-purpose dictatorship, and she could only imagine how many of them it would survive.

"Well, it sounds like they would never just do away with appointments or remove all other Ministry officials. You would have to be insane to propose anything like that." Hannah thought about it for a moment, and it seemed Terry was going along with that, rather than telling her whether he agreed or disagreed. "Wait, what if you went after them in reverse?"

The Ravenclaw offered an appreciative nod.

"You start with the wands, so you can get onto the other recourses after that," Ron joined. "People need their wands for work and stuff, so the trick is coming up with more artefacts that don't need wands to use. Prob'ly the first thing's putting up wards that keep people from apparating. 'wotcha need dat for mate? goinna go someplace illegal?'- Everyone starts using the Floo Network to get to work if they weren't already," he concluded, somewhere between annoyed and disgusted.

_Was he like this last year? Was this what mother meant when she was talking about boys changing?_

"The Edict is speeding things up," Terry added. "If they make unregistered wands illegal several years before they start taking them up, it'll give them time to develop the artefacts. The regulation itself will decrease the amount of wands in the hands of people who aren't criminals in some way."

"How does it work? How do they intend to ward everyone's wands?"

"Apparently the Edict starts with us," Ron grumbled. "That's the real purpose, anyway. Hogwarts is the only thing not under direct Ministry control. Why'd you think they were sending _her _here?"

Apparently the other two had a better idea of who the new Defense teacher would be than she did, but it appeared neither of them wanted to talk about it. _I suppose that's fine. I'll find out soon enough.  
_

For whatever reason, the prospect of imagining something that would be revealed in short order did not interest her at all. As last year, she went through the motions of getting off the train, finding her way to the carriages with Ron and Terry. Hannah caught sight of Hermione in the distance, but decided against waving. _I think we're not talking right now. I'll be sure tomorrow, at the latest._

Running into Justin, who offered her a fake smile as they got off their respective flying carriages, she learned that Neville was already at the school; that it had just been more convenient for his tutor. Reminded of the previous year, Hannah wondered if Smith were around, though she decided that she could hardly care less as she entered the school with the crowd. Having asked about him over the summer, she had heard from one of Ron's brothers that the boy had been questioned extensively, since it was decided that he was part of the escape plan, but was eventually released.

Essentially, Dumbledore opposed the use of Legilimency to take the answers from the mind unwilling, as the young wizard was still his student, and he believed he would confess eventually. Mr. Weasley disagreed with the acceptability of 'eventually', but he was not one to throw out everything for selfish reasons.

Instead, he had delegated the matter to the twins.

"Boys, if there's anything at all you might overhear from Smith, be sure and relay it to Charlie," he had said on a trip to the pyramids, not at all managing to disguise his intentions. He was an honest man, perhaps for lack of other options, but there was a charm to his nature.

The scene playing out in the Great Hall brought her out of her thoughts as she sat down with the Hufflepuffs, spying Neville at the other end of the table. The Sorting seemed to carry itself out in the background as she stared, moving her head every time he looked in her direction. Hannah wanted to wave politely, but she did not want to raise her own spirits, and could not imagine any way of separating one from the other. _It's better he does his own thing. If he learns too much about the group, he might tell Malfoy something by accident. _She winced as she thought of the experienced liar running circles around her first friend, spinning gold with the nuggets of information he gained.

The magnified sound of a goblet being tapped with a fork muted down the conversation.

"Students, though I would like to welcome the first-years, it appears the speech of our guest will run rather long," the soft voice of Albus Dumbledore began as soon as the last whisper was silent. It might have been in her head, but Hannah could have sworn the Slytherins took longer on purpose. "As it happens, I find I would stress the importance of listening to her words carefully. It is not every day she will teach you a lesson like this," he concluded ambiguously, leaving Hannah scratching her head through the shuffling at the Head Table. "Professor Umbridge, please begin."

"Good evening students!" The witch looked much like a toad on first sight, though her voice had been less croaky than envisioned. _Is envisioned the right word?_ "My impression of this school whilst I attended it was that it was a wonderful learning environment sure to furnish the minds of the future each with all it needs to know. More recent observation has contradicted my previous understanding, but, never fear, it may all be set right again."

In the entirety of the crowd of students, Hannah could see nothing other than blank stares.


	7. The Second Time Sink

_I had been under the impression Lockhart would be followed by someone competent. It appears the same disappointment has visited the both of us._

Draco tuned out much of the speech, contrary to the Headmaster's wishes. In fairness, he had an idea that other students who did not already know the Supreme Undersecretary or even know of her would benefit from learning exactly what kind of teacher, what kind of person, she was, if either term were applicable. The Slytherin table seemed to be somewhat interested, though none of his personal followers had failed to follow his signal in ignoring her. _I suppose that's what she gains for being Sorted into a tolerable House. _

What annoyed him most of all was that she was a 'moderate blood purist', in the sense that she supported legal limitations on the rights of mudbloods, though she lacked the will for the appropriate term. _It's fitting, of course, for a rootless half-blood. _Despite her best attempts, the Death Eaters were perfectly aware her mother was a muggle, but it was simply not a matter that was worth pursuing. The blood purists had long since accepted half-bloods as the tolerable reality, since their children would be magical, if only of the same purity. _If we ever need to blackmail her, we have the information. At the same time, it will probably not be necessary. She remembers that our representatives approved of her appointment, and failing that she would not have been promoted.  
_

The Improper Use of Magic Office was a sufficiently prestigious department to head, and it was really only a small step up to the Supreme Undersecretary. As he understood it, she had been willing to take most of the year on the Hogwarts project only because it was perfectly necessary for the enforcement of the Edict. Every Hogwarts student needed to have a warded wand for the program to be successful, and as Pygmalion Kirkland argued, if the enforcement was so important, she should see to it herself. _They caught her in a modicum of trouble with that. If she removes herself from the position, she will have all but declared the project to be unimportant. The Edict may even be repealed. _He watched her conclude her speech as some of the students rose, disrespectfully assuming there would be no other speeches.

_For that reason, I have to keep her here unless and until such a time as the Dark Lord or my father tell me otherwise._

Though the Lord Voldemort had a particular fondness for Hogwarts, as well as practical plans; he had reportedly sighed and agreed to the Edict's passage, after Yaxley and Selwyn explained how beneficial it would be, at least in the short term.

Draco returned to the dungeons with the rest of his House. _It truly is good to be back._

At the same time, there was a catch.

Initially his father had been worried that the wands of Slytherin House would be warded to their detriment, but to their great fortune the argument that the opposition presented was that the students of Hogwarts were almost entirely victims who had done nothing to deserve the suspicious treatment they were receiving, with only one student death in roughly a millennium. This allowed his father to make the case that the Edict should be enforced on the students only as a punishment for an offense, at the school's discretion 'to catch the minute monsters, while leaving the innocent untouched'. In actual fact, this would provide an escape for most of the Slytherins, who lost significantly fewer points on average than the other Houses, and could generally get out of other punishments as long as Professor Snape was handling it himself.

"Malfoy, there's a meeting," Goyle muttered from behind. _He truly has a gift for efficiency._

"Who is leading?"

"Flint, but really Warrington," the boy muttered back. "Pucey's fallen out of favor." Draco frowned, but not at his subordinate, who had improved his diction somewhat, if his sentences were a bit curt. _Of course, brevity is the soul of wit. I would hope he would be better than Creevey at this point.  
_

"I see," he answered, revealing nothing as they walked. Behind Goyle he spotted Crabbe, who seemed to be the test subject for one of Nott's potions. _If that man costs me a servant, his children will regret it. _"Do you know what that contains?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Not really, but Nott explained some of it. It's meant to make you smarter and he figured I would be the best test subject."

Draco nodded.

"If you die, be sure and make a fist with your left hand, so I can be sure the potion did it."

"Good thinking, Malfoy," Goyle offered. The blonde wizard scowled back. _You're not Longbottom. Don't act like Longbottom. _

His meeting with the boy over the summer had been brief and uncertain. The other wizard was an unwelcome reminder of the way he was trying to live before the return of the Dark Lord, which changed everything, even the people he was willing to tolerate. _It continues to pain me that I used to regard Nott as too much a bookworm._

The Summit of Slytherin House, Prima Nocte was held in the common area by invitation only, of course, though Draco wondered what would happen if an idiot first-year interrupted them by insisting that it was the common area, not a private area. _I might have done that. _Taking in the scene as always, he found the room as perfect as ever in the green light of the submarine windows, how it shone on the blackwood of the furniture, the silver frames that contained the great wizards and witches of yore.

"I would begin with a simple word of caution," Priscilla White, a sixth-year started as the silence gathered. "No consensus has ever existed among Slytherins." _A non-controversial position, I would hope. _"This ranks among the most perfectly crucial factors that define who we are." Marcus Flint raised a glass. _I would wager that's pumpkin juice rather than elf wine, though the intention is there.  
_

"Verily," Draco muttered, false modesty in his choice of a single word. "I would venture it is only a rare event, and only for a spectacularly vital reason that even two of us would raise our wands under one banner." He exaggerated, he knew; there was, every so often, a joint venture wherein a pair of Salazar's best would deign combine their efforts, if trying to get the better of each other at every step. He was not counting the sort of Crabbe and Goyle, sworn to his service by old family ties, though he expected this was perfectly apparent to everyone.

"Of course," Pucey responded, perhaps to provide reason to contradict the Death Eaters. _A pragmatist to the end; I shall never see him miss an opportunity. _"What I would find even more rare, among those Sorted here, that so many of us would swear to serve a wizard of no significant background. I would expect this sort of behavior only from the least ambitious of the House's history." Crabbe looked down a moment before Draco scowled at him. _Don't let them know he means you. On second thought, that might be better, since I'm almost certain he's referring to my father and the rest._

"You go too far," Montague accused. "Many of the Death Eaters are from families more reputable and expansive than your own."

Draco realized the point of criticism was in his favor, but he waved it away. It was entirely naked, and while Salazar respected those with accomplished ancestors, success had to begin somewhere and eternally relying on the fame of one's predecessors would eventually result in a wasteful, decadent heir. _Even if I were to rely on my own father to bolster my reputation, there are those it would irk._

"It's really a moot point, Pucey, Montague," Bullstrode said from across the room. "One way or another, the Death Eaters will have all of us." _Perhaps being bulky has the opposite effect on witches. She's certainly no Goyle._

Much of the room ignored the declaration, which was fair enough, since it was an appeal to inevitability. These were generally bad arguments, since it was nearly impossible to prove something that may happen in the future to be inevitable. _The Dark Lord never looks at things as inevitable. He sees the future as the product of his choices. _Looking around, it seemed there were more than enough of his sincere supporters- White, Bole, the Carrow sisters, Hestia and Flora, both of whom Draco detested, something of a younger Aunt Bellatrix the first, the second better at pretending to be sane. He expected there were more Lord Voldemort loyalists, though there were limits to his knowledge. Blessedly, the blood purists were still in the lead. _Without the Heir, though, I expect challenge...  
_

"The world outside is outside of our control," Pucey brokered. "We are students; we concern ourselves with what we may do here, which begins with the encroachment of the Supreme Undersecretary." _He may yet revive himself. _

"Her incursion will be of no serious threat to us," White rejoined. _Pucey, it really doens't matter what you say, as long as it's you saying it. _"Whatever rule or punishment she intends to visit upon the student body will conveniently miss us, at least those of whom she approves." It appeared Warrington was in agreement. _Has he some idea he'll be approved? He's at least a purist in public.  
_

"Consider, though, how this might be used to our advantage," Draco interjected. "I know the Supreme Undersecretary from something of a summer foray into the Ministry. Whether or not she means to enforce them, she will create new rules. It would be better to be on top of them, so to speak." _Old hag likes to have a degree of control on everyone and everything. Dumbledore will be fighting her rather than the Dark Lord because he cares about this school more than the entire rest of the planet. _"Of course, I doubt Defense classes will be worth attending, as I do not believe she would go so far as to teach us different lessons."

"What kind of rules?" Flint asked, his concern rather transparent. _I doubt she'll come after Quidditch, you oaf. _

"Knowing there will be those plotting against her, she may disband student organizations, though she would be quite unable to do the same with Houses. Expect rules to be vague and easy for her to interpret to suit her needs," he explained, suppressing a smirk. _They're eating out of my palm.  
_

"There would be limits to her authority-" Bullstrode started, leaving some doubt in her statement, a willingness to be made correct if she contradicted him in error.

"Our new Defense professor is a ladder climber, ask anyone in the Improper Use of Magic Office, like the ruffian she selected as her successor." Draco spoke with a practiced confidence. In truth, he expected he knew a little less than the average Ministry employee, having never dealt with the toad-woman personally, but it would not do to admit that. _Without knowing any more about her, no one can really go against me. All the same, I should keep my statements reasonable. _"Within a few months expect her to promote herself, perhaps through the Office, perhaps through the school governors; perhaps both. The school itself will resist, of course, but they need her." _All thanks to my father's efforts of course. As a school governor, he surveys the applicants for the position from time to time. Whenever a qualified one appears, a higher-paying position opens up elsewhere.  
_

He doubted most students knew why the Defense teacher was different every year; if they thought about it at all it was either a pox on the position, Dumbledore being an old fool, or both. The truth was that even if there was a persistent belief the job was cursed the school should expect to see so few applicants, and the Headmaster had some say in the appointments, since he could fire teachers, but it was no coincidence that the class most essential to Dumbledore's supposed purposes had the fewest qualified applicants.

"Our magical heritage is in jeopardy," Flint objected, having heard their education would likely suffer. "In Defense class we are meant to learn to defend ourselves." _That's a logical objection, I suppose. _

"True, but we can learn it without her," White decided, waving her hand at the inconvenience. "She will not prevent her fellow Slytherins from learning magic."

It was a sufficiently reasonable theory, but Draco thought it easy enough to guess why it was not accepted immediately, a point of doubt on which Pucey capitalized, though the blonde wizard tuned him out. _Ah, well, at least we did not invite anyone else. I doubt Crabbe would be able to follow any thoughts not coming from Flint or someone duller. _

To his knowledge, the true politicians in the House were few and far between, for though it was a dream more or less everyone shared, in practice few could attain high positions, else they would not be so high. The Ravenclaws sometimes wondered why the lot of them seemed like absurd political masterminds, but the truth was that as long as a few of them or really even one wanted to possess the secrets of every Slytherin, the rest of them would have to at least be on guard. Favors, similarly, would be more valuable and more carefully thought out, and they would have to think a long time in the future. The Gryffindors competed with each other to be the bravest, since brave was a relative term, and the same was true with the Hufflepuffs and their ideal of hard work. To compete between each other however, Draco and his Housemates would compete for dominance, as it was impossible to demonstrate leadership without being a leader of something, and cunning and ambition had a way of combining themselves.

The meeting ended without the same fanfare with which it had started and he retired to his chambers, which were divided first by sex, then by familial loyalty, which was fine by him. He was comfortable enough with Padma, but quite a few of them in the same room would be quite a few too many. Slytherin witches especially were getting a way about them where they would giggle in unison, which he had no conceivable way of deflecting; there was absolutely nothing to be done about it once the giggling started. The scion of House Malfoy had considered draining the blood vessels in his face or potentially cursing his skin to keep it from flushing, but such spells were not available in the books in his possession and he had no desire to ask the librarian where to find them. _At the same time, I have to learn how to control my face. I cannot simply curse it to keep it from making any form of expression; I would look like some sort of Inferius, and my ancestors have all been able to learn how to suppress their outward displays._

The Black side of his family was a mysterious one, since much of it had basically died out and the remaining heirs had found themselves imprisoned, married, or both. There was some argument that House Malfoy should obtain the whole of its properties through his mother, necessitating that Sirius and Aunt Bellatrix be excluded from their inheritance by being in prison, but apparently this was not the case according to the vagaries or hereditary property law. Being in prison was a temporary affair, as sentences could always be reduced, and there was no exception on the books for life sentences, only death penalties, which were exceptionally rare in Britain. As a result, the properties of House Black would remain with the male heir, Sirius, until his eventual death, which was taking longer than expected or palatable.

It would be of no consequence following the raid on Azkaban, of course.

His father had told him little about it, of course, insisting that he keep to his work at the Ministry and his studies at school, though this did not technically preclude him from studying Azkaban at school. His work had regrettably included a transcription of the summit on the Victims of Blood Purism, something the Hufflepuffs had put together to beg Fudge to nationalize the school if at all possible. The plan had not suffered for lack of the mudblood, Granger, as no one in the Wizengamot had noticed her absence, but had most likely only succeeded in giving the Supreme Undersecretary the idea of enforcing the Edict on the students, the better to protect them, of course.

Having had to make notes of all who appeared, there was one Justin Finch-Fletchey, who was probably a mudblood, though it mattered not since he agreed to help them. Draco contained his scowl. Though the conspiracy among the Hufflepuffs would aid the Death Eaters in the short term, they rejected purism, which could not be forgiven from an ideological perspective. The amount of youthful magical blood was too much to spill, so the majority of them would simply have to be kept out of teaching positions, domestically and abroad- after their just punishments, of course.

The last thing on his mind as he prepared for bed was the sighting of Rowle down in Burma, or rather the sighting of the Dark Mark. It was a deliberate distraction, and a deliberately obvious one, he knew, but it was one that would prompt an investigation nonetheless. Whatever ill word could be said about the Minister and his government, the same could be said of the people, at least in the sense that they put up with it, and someone had to elect him in the first place. It would be their uneasiness and desire to be rid of it that would launch a Ministry investigation in some remote corner of the world, though there were of course ulterior purposes for the Dark Lord's decision to intervene in the conflict.

Lying in bed at last, he allowed a smirk, thinking of how they would all react to the plan being realized.


	8. Double Defense

Ron might have been annoyed at the teaching methods of the new professor, but the twins were livid. _I reckon their problem has more to do with the new rules, but it makes no difference to me._

For his own part, he had no wish to be outdone by Malfoy, and generally refrained from talking in class, even to answer questions. As far as he knew it was not required and if it were not required he would neither do it nor put any particular effort into it. He had been practicing spells on his own to get ahead of Malfoy since first year, so the uselessness of the present teacher was no particular issue.

Hermione, of course, was bothering him about using the class to learn the theory anyway.

"Honestly, Ron, the reason most first-years can't perform great works of magic is because they don't understand the theoretical side. There is such a thing as magical power, but it makes little difference," she had said on the way to Divination.

"Fine, Hermione, I'm just not interested. If you can learn the hows and whys, good for you," he muttered back. Staring into books was simply not the way he learned things. Fortunately, Snape's class required very little reading, though difficult questions from the books would be directed at him and he would suffer for not reading. _Well, maybe I wouldn't suffer. I haven't cared about House points in years.  
_

"Well, we're here," he obviated as they climbed the stupid silvery ladder, the purpose of which escaped him.

The interior was as stuffy as he might have imagined, though Umbridge had not exactly styled on them with decorative sense. Professor Trelawney was exactly what he expected, having heard about her from his brothers.

"Already the Inner Eye informs me that there is one among our numbers who has... the gift!" A student from the back of the room gasped, but it turned out to not be Hannah. _That's right, we're splitting this class with Ravenclaw, not Hufflepuff. To bad we have to split Defense with the Slytherins._

"Who is it, professor?" Terry asked. _We split a lot of classes with the Slytherins, come to think of it. Welcome change, I say.  
_

"As the mists clear, the answer will be revealed, though gathered have they in this room; a negative energy has appeared."

_That's it, I'm absolutely baffled._

Nothing was said for a moment as there was a scratching of quills. _People are writing this down? Who? Why? _Swiveling his head around, it appeared the answers were Lavender and 'never mind, no idea'. He quickly looked away from the Gryffindor girl, not wanting to have her catch him staring. He had not been caught yet, and would not start soon.

Oddly enough, as the lecture continued, he found a decreasingly enthused expression on Hermione's face, though every time she looked over he went back to grudgingly scratching out whatever the teacher was saying. _I don't believe any of this is going to make more sense when I read it again._

"What?" she whispered after the third time.

"Miss Granger, I sense that the total of sapphires will decrease in the near future," came a dreamy voice from the front of the room.

"Oh, I think it's the House point counter for Ravenclaw..." Parvati speculated excitedly, trailing off as she looked back to the witch in question.

Hermione had a new look on her face, somewhere between shocked and offended. _There's probably a word for that; no idea what it is._

"Wait, are you joking or something?" she asked, looking back and forth from Parvati and Lavender to the teacher. "You _predict _that I'm going to lose House points?"

"Alas, I am afraid it has just taken place," Trelawney lamented, a select few of the class collectively gasping with surprise. By contrast, Hermione and Terry looked to be anything but surprised, but upset, and the subsequent fervent scratching of quills around them did nothing to improve their moods.

Ron, contrasting the entire rest of the class, was struggling to contain his laughter.

"It's not that amusing, Ronald," his friend said as the instructor let them out at last, coinciding with the time Ron let his laughter out.

"I disagree. I'm going to enjoy studying the theory of Divination, especially with you. Are you taking your minimum hours?" he asked, remembering there was a small chance Hermione could not afford to drop the class.

"I'll have you know I'm taking my maximum hours. I talked with Professor McGonagall about taking more classes, but she said that would be impossible without time magic, and I apparently have enough reasons to worry."

"Time magic?"

"Apparently it's possible, yes, but she told me nothing about it. There's very little in the library on the subect."

"Well, I'm sure you'll find someone with a nice thick book about it if you ask around nicely." _Wait a tick, how many books do you have to read to know that there's not a lot about something in the library?  
_

The Ravenclaw glared at him a moment.

"Don't be impossible. You need practice for Professor Snape- and Umbridge, for that matter." Ron pondered her words as they descended the moving stair, fortunate this time. _They should really scrap these things at some point. Near as I can figure they just respond to whatever most people want._

"Is this about Hannah?" he asked, not at all cautiously. _I had an idea that they're 'not talking'. Fred says witches get like that around this age- always seems to say it with a wistful look about him.  
_

"For the record, I have forgotten all about that little spat we had earlier. I am perfectly ready to forgive her for making a rude hand gesture in my general direction and disguising it by grabbing her writing pad."

"Hannah likes to write?" he asked, commenting on the one surprising detail in the sentence. Hermione's memory was too good to forget something from a day ago.

"I suppose. She seems rather inventive."

Ron decided it made sense, more or less, though he could only wonder what it was she wrote. If the witch were anything like Ginny, it would be pointless romance nonsense, though she might not be writing stories at all. It could of course be a diary of secrets, and though the Hufflepuff was not known for being an open book, he had an idea of what one of them might be.

The Potions classroom was as dour as the instructor's mood, commanding them immediately to take a quiz on the book, which he had not read. _Damn- should've guessed it'd be something like this. _As he guessed answers to the especially hard questions, expecting to get no more than half right if he got any of them, he stole a glance around the room every so often. In addition to the Korean snake wine cylinder in the corner, there was a deer leg hanging from the ceiling, decidedly macabre, even for Snape. _Merlin, like I'll ever figure out this bastard. Reckon I've a better chance at figuring out these questions.  
_

_How does a wizard determine the effect of an unknown potion?_

_Drink it._

Ron had an idea that the Potions master would probably remove points from Gryffindor for the answer, but it was a technically functional response.

_What effect does the direction of stirring have on a brew?_

_Depends if you're in the northern hemisphere or the southern hermisphere.  
_

He remembered that part of it, but no other. _Reckon I'll get at least half a point._

_Where can wormwood be found?_

_Top shelf, third from the right while looking at the west wall._

The young wizard had significant doubt the answer would be graded as a response to an ambiguous question, since it was only ambiguous in the most technical sense. Hermione called it 'conversational logic'. Wondering if she had already had Potions, he had a mind to tell her what the surprise quiz concerned, especially since Snape rarely gave written examinations. _Can't think of why he would, unless... _The instructor, sitting at his desk at the front of the room, appeared to be staring down at a length of parchment, temples resting between his pressed fingers.

_Is there any ingredient with a universal decantalyzing effect?_

_Yes._

Ron knew Snape had a sense of humor, but it mostly had to do with tormenting students and he never laughed at their jokes, even the ones told by his personal favorites. For this reason he had only responded to the questions the way he had because it amused him, and had every expectation that he would not pass the quiz. _I don't know how I pass anything in this class. Does Dumbledore get onto him if he only passes the Slytherins?  
_

It occurred to him he largely had no idea how education worked, at least at the management level. From something the Headmaster said last year, a great amount was left up to the discretion of the teachers, meaning things like favoritism and bias simply had to go unpunished, but it was not as if anyone wanted a school in which that was the common practice, at least not if it could be turned about. It was possible that when students gave their notes to Heads of Houses for career advice, they would consider an A in Potions for a Gryffindor the same as an E in Potions for a Slytherin, rendering the bias void. _Of course it doesn't really fix anything, since there could be a brilliant Slytheirn who really deserves an O, and it would only count as an E. _In the same line of thinking, he imagined teachers gave more points to Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws than they did to Snape's favorites, countering his efforts. It had been a while since he had been concerned about House points since it had been a while since he had had any friends in Gryffindor, and it had always seemed like something he couldn't really change much himself, but he had the idea it was important to some students. _Mostly the mad Hufflepuffs, I'd wager. Hannah said they actually asked Professor Sprout for an automatic ten point addition every day, figuring that was as many as Snape was 'sposed to take away. Reckon they should've asked for more, but it doesn't matter since she doesn't approve of escalation.  
_

He had it on good authority that the Herbology teacher also did not appreciate being called 'part of the problem'.

Dean stood up from across the room, handed in his quiz and left after a curt 'Thank you, Mr. Thomas, for not being a dullard'. Parvati followed shortly after, handing in her quiz and leaving without waiting to be dismissed. _Well, I guess those two aren't bad. _

Leaving himself as time in class ran out, he tailed a pair of Slytherins discussing something in hushed tones for a moment. He had an idea of how they would pass, but it would have nothing to do with answering the questions more correctly.

"-body out in front of the tracks-" one of them muttered indistinctly as he looked over his shoulder, fortunately in the wrong direction.

"-far from the Manor, either-" The boy locked on to Ron. _I reckon I couldn't keep it up forever. _"And what do you want, Weasley?" the dark-skinned boy asked. The red-haired wizard thought his name was Zabini.

"I saw the body myself," he spat out. "There was a boot lying on the ground near it, you know. That means we hit him. What were you saying about a Manor?" _Damn, they probably want something. _"Might be, I'll be inclined to remember something else."

An uncertain look passed between the pair of Slytherins. Ron might have seen the girl somewhere, but he truly had no idea.

"How do we know you were there?" she asked as they walked.

"You can ask Terry if you like. Only met him yesterday, 'f that's what you're wondering."

"He's a friend of the mudblood's, then?" the boy asked. "Very well-" he started back, before the Gryffindor could object to the term. _It's a disgusting term, and it's totally unnecessary. _"-since you were so concerned, we were not far from the Malfoy Manor at the time; I know because I have been there myself."

"Real interesting how that is, you know that?" _I shouldn't even tell them. They don't deserve it. _"I'm under suspicion because I may know the other witness-"

"We decide what suspicions we believe," the girl interrupted. "The same is true for everyone." she added somewhat more quietly. "Now, unless you have something to say about it, don't expect us to exchange any secrets with anyone from your blood traitor family in the-"

"Don't get your- there was a broken chain. I think it was on the body, because the controller or one of them was holding it like he was going to be sick. If I'd gotten a better look, I might have been sick myself."

The explanation seemed to register with the others, who parted quickly, probably having other classes to attend. He had Charms. _Don't reckon they're lying, not if they think I'm like to have more information later. _On the way to Flitwick's preferred classroom, he decided that it was most likely that Slytherins or anyone particularly interested in exchanging information had to keep lying to a minimum, or they would likely never be able to sell it in the future. Lying was probably a last resort, since it was much harder to regain credibility than lose it.

In his own House, many of the older students seemed to regard lying as a sign of weakness or cowardice. A strong, brave wizard would tell the truth and have no need of the strategic advantage of lying, though that advantage would soon turn into a disadvantage. The Hufflepuffs, mad or otherwise, seemed to hate lying and liars, because misrepresenting things served as a way of getting around the difficulty of truth and it broke up the group when there was distrust. Ravenclaws like Terry opposed the idea out of an oddly simple love of the truth and knowledge, with dishonesty being an obstacle in that regard. He had not known the boy long and already he had at least briefly explained how many publications in potions were only about experiments that worked or seemed to work. That this phenomenon presented a problem was a point of confusion for Ron, but Terry argued that because of it, the process of proving something did not work to the general public was exceedingly difficult.

Something he would hear from all Houses, here and there, whether directly or overheard, was that someone who always spoke the truth was powerful.

Having been something of an outcast from quite a few of the Gryffindors, he had taken to sitting with random students at random tables at breakfast, though he had never mentioned this to Hermione. Rarely participating in conversation except when he felt like it, he maintained an invisibility that allowed for discussion to go on around him. _Reckon if she learned about it she'd be all excited about prejudices and radiotypes. Give me a break._

The consistency between them was strange and off-putting, but it made sense. A wizard who kept his word was someone whose words had meaning; when he spoke it changed the world around him as though everything he said were the incantation to a spell. Ron wondered if Voldemort ever lied.

His mind returning to their first Defense class, he remembered the way everyone filed in, the Gryffindors and the Slytherins staring mostly at the opposite side of the room, though occasionally one or two of them would be stealing a look at him. _What did I do to deserve this? Oh, that's right, I got cursed all to hell fighting Death Eaters and their minions._

Malfoy and his usual gang were in the back row, looking like nothing was bothering them too greatly, though their leader spared a moment for a sneer.

Ron turned his gaze to the front of the room. _They outnumber me. If they attack me, it'll be an excuse for Seamus to lead a counter, but the way punishments are handed out for dueling, I reckon we all go up together._

In the back of his mind, the teacher had arrived, introduced herself unnecessarily, and had started a speech about course objectives as he looked through the textbook, his copy having been borrowed. _That's the worst thing about Defense; we always need a new book. 'Least I could get around reading Lockhart's stupid diaries most of the time._

"Wait, are we going to be practicing defensive spells or not?" Seamus asked, having been paying better attention. Dean was reading an unrelated book next to Parvati, though it seemed Umbridge had found no reason to tell him not to occupy his mind with other things.

"Mr..."

"Finnigan-"

"Don't interrupt when I'm talking, Mr. Finnigan. The curriculum has been set by those who went through the proper channels, and there will be no changes made to it. What was decided was that there will be no need to practice spells, as my short-lived predecessors believed-" A Slytherin girl made a nasty scowl. _I wonder who it was she insulted that has your knickers in a twist. Lockhart, or your precious Dark Lord?_

"Well, what are we going to do if we're attacked?"

_Merlin, there I was wondering the same thing when I walked in here._

"By whom would you be attacked, mayhaps?" the teacher said after a disgusting little cough that might have served to quiet Goyle's laughter regarding the desperate Irish boy's question, if he had not found the cough funny as well.

"Voldemort and the Death Eaters, of course. They tried it last year."

Ron anticipated another loss to Gryffindor's point total. _Maybe Snape was right about negative points. Damn._


	9. The Group

Herimone found herself scowling, thinking about how Umbridge had been raiding the library, though her interest in the books about dark magic was hard to determine. The conspiracy among the Hufflepuffs probably thought she was trying to destroy them, though it was entirely possible she wanted to read them. There was no evidence that she had used dark magic, though Padma found her in the Ravenclaw common area and told her that she had used a dark artefact. Apparently, it was not permitted to discuss the return of Voldemort in class, even with a cautiously optimistic attitude, which in fairness the witch had reason enough to believe would work.

"What did she do?" she had asked, not looking up from her reading. _How long does that cow think she can keep it covered up?  
_

"She made me write 'I must not tell lies' in my own blood."

It was enough to make her look, since apparently the same words were on her hand.

"Did you carve into your hand to get blood on the quill-"

"No, the quill's cursed. It writes whatever I was writing on the parchment on my hand. She made me write it fifty times, so it just carved the same message in my skin."

Despite how she would prefer not to be talking to Padma, she had to acknowledge that it was a disfigurement that she herself would probably hate, even though she did not value her appearance as highly as most other things. _I'm not going to be judged on it for anything important. I have other things with which to concern myself._

Ron asked her why she was scowling at lunch. Hannah and Terry had only just arrived.

"It's Umbridge again, thanks," she responded curtly.

"No 'professor'? Merlin, Hermione, you must really hate her," he said while mostly done chewing.

"Don't you?"

"'course I do. Don't you hate Snape too, though?"

"I do. I just have more respect for him than you or Hannah. He's a teacher," It appeared Ron caught the implication, but he said nothing of it. "We're not learning anything from _Madam Undersecretary._"

"I wouldn't go if I could get away with it," their Hufflepuff friend volunteered. _Well, we're not learning anything apart from theory, and most of the students don't pay attention to that._

"Why go, then?" Terry asked. "We're better off learning it ourselves."

Hermione considered the proposal. It was not against the original rules to form study groups, though she could not be sure about the new rules passed by their least favorite teacher. One of them specifically forbid students from sitting within eight inches of each other, and she had stopped reading after that. There were plenty of older students up in arms about it, but it was enough for her just to acknowledge it as an overreaching rule made by an overreaching bureaucrat.

"We should study in the mysterious room," Hannah suggested. "If they're not teaching us 'combative magic', they do not want us to learn it. It's not important whether it is against the rules or not, because Umbridge can make a rule against it, or she can throw us out of school even though we didn't violate any rules." Ron heartily agreed, though he refrained from expressing as much while swallowing. _No deathwishes there.  
_

"Okay, how does this work?" the Ravenclaw witch asked. "I suppose we could invite a few more people, like Neville..."

"That's just a hair out of the question," the Gryffindor objected. "He'll expose us all. He's got Malfoy on one ear and that tutor bird on the other. Much as I'd like to get him up to speed on what he's missed, it'd be the same as inviting all of Slytherin. Can't risk it." It seemed uncharacteristic for him to refuse any risk, but Hermione reminded herself that his distaste for the Malfoy family and really anyone from his House far exceeded his tolerance toward danger to himself or his friends.

"He's not a snitch, Ron," the blonde witch next to him objected.

"No, he's not, he's just constantly around people who are trying to get secrets out of him and he gives 'em out. He's too trusting." He set down his pumpkin juice. "He's too... what's the word for it?"

"Idealistic," Terry interpolated.

"That's the ticket. 'least we never have to worry about him being a purist."

Hermione was willing to let it pass unexplained, but the same could not be said of Hannah.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked as the four of them rose, setting off for the seventh floor.

"Well, Terry and I were talking about it earlier after I heard about how a few more of the Ravenclaws warming up to it."

"It's not important," she decided, saving him the trouble of explaining it. "We probably live in the most divided House in Hogwarts. A few of the older students are looking to fly the coop, so to speak, and a few of them, mostly the younger ones, are starting to be convinced that the only way to get rid of the Inspectors and Umbridge and all of them is to side with the Death Eaters, which is fine for plenty of the pure bloods and the half bloods. They're ultimately just not concerned where everyone else ends up, least of all the centaurs and the elves."

She had found there was no student group that sought to liberate house elves from their magical bonds, which seemed impossible to her because the more she looked at it, the more it seemed like chattel slavery, most likely a sort of moral blind spot of the wizarding community. After all, she had never met anyone who hated them outright, or even anyone who said anything terribly disrespectful, except occasionally about the goblins, and that was at least informed by what they were reading in History.

As far as the Ravenclaw students went, they brought varying perspectives to the common room, mostly from the different books they read, but since some ideas were off limits, the debates never really concluded. As an example, while studying charms one night she overheard an argument between Cho and a wizard her age; she could tell that Cho's opponent wanted to say that the Death Eaters could kill the parents of the students of lower blood status by taking over Hogwarts and trading their lives, but that was a horribly distasteful thing to mention for many reasons. Firstly, any parent willing to sacrifice his or her life for a child was difficult to call a bad person, and therefore difficult to label as an enemy. Secondly, the very idea relied on tactics that would not do favors for how the purists were perceived. Lastly, the very suggestion of killing parents was unforgivable. There were far too many students without them.

For that reason, blood purism could only be discussed as an idea, and therefore could never win debates. The drawback was that it only suffered nominal defeats. Without the ability to make the arguments on their mind, the Ravenclaws in support of it would never believe they were defeated, even if whatever jury presiding over the debate ruled against them, usually for not having an answer for something.

The mysterious room welcomed them as always.

Terry was saying something about coming up with lesson plans, but she doubted he would keep Ron's attention with anything that structured. _The last thing he wants to do is attend another class, and only because one of the ones he was taking was incomplete._

"I was thinking of something less formal," Hermione inserted.

"Of course, it's just the four of us, no need for structure," the wizard agreed hastily. "Disregard whatever it was I just said; I've already forgotten."

Hannah blinked before speaking.

"Okay, then, how are we going to do it? Is Hermione going to teach us?"

"I don't have that much more knowledge than everyone else," she responded, probably not truthfully. _I have, as a matter of fact, read much of the library's collection on the Philosopher's Stone. I could probably teach the group alchemy, but not much else. _"I think we should all teach."

"I suppose we could take turns once or twice a week. It sounds promising," Terry commented.

"We could, but I was thinking we all bring something every time. That way we're not under as much pressure to bring a whole lesson," the Ravenclaw witch explained. Out of the corner of her eye, as she was not looking at him, the wizard made a hand gesture to indicate that everyone should listen to what she was saying. _Is it embarrassing to be contradicted or something? I suppose I should be glad he is not responding by arguing with me._

The proposal was met with further agreement by the other two members of the group, though the Hufflepuff had another question of dire importance.

"What are we going to call ourselves? We could be- Defense Underground- or, or, I know- The Not Evil Conspiracy. It's a conspiracy of people who aren't evil. Well, I'm sure there are some who wouldn't want to join and that's fine-"

"Hannah, we don't need a name," Hermione said, leaning forward only slightly. "It will only draw attention to us."

"We could be the werewolves," she muttered to no one, followed by a momentary silence.

"Is there anyone to recruit apart from Neville? Perhaps someone in Gryffindor?" Terry asked at length.

"I don't reckon there is," Ron started. "I figure the reason we've got you around now is because you had the good sense and the backbone to reach out to us, and really that was before I knew there was an 'us'. You've got loons like Seamus who are near enough to being expelled, then there are some older blokes willing to work with the mad Hufflepuffs, so we can't trust any of them."

"I mean, how probable is it that Hannah is the only decent-" the Ravenclaw girl started, to be interrupted.

"It's one hundred percent," the blonde witch said. She stared back, daring her to challenge the statement.

"Go on," she responded instead.

"Please, please, don't tell anyone from my House about this. It's not as simple as we thought," she continued, if a bit haltingly. "If the Death Eaters catch us- they'll try us, and then we go to Azkaban, but we're too valuable to just kill on sight." _Has she been hearing this from Neville? _"They'll give Ron and me a chance to turn coat, but you most likely won't be so lucky. The conspiracy is different. It's just like when Ebony was in charge, if not worse. I'd go so far to say that she planted the seeds, and Electrum is watering them. One of the older ones told me that they're labeling subjects they don't like as dangerous and wrong. I haven't even asked what they intend to do if they capture 'parts of the problem', and they've already decided that they had their chance in first year." She sighed. "Now which is worse?"

She waited a moment to see if anyone would respond.

"I mean, the Death Eaters have You-Know-Who, but he's a bit further away," Ron offered at length. "I reckon at least from a practical perspective, they're the same." He rose, pacing around a moment. "There really isn't a three-way-war on. It's just a war between the Ministry, its lackeys, and the Death Eaters, wherever their commander is. We're not really a side, we're just biting off more than we can chew fighting both of them at once." Hermione raised an eyebrow, wondering if he thought it would be better to let them wear each other down.

"How did it get that way?" Hannah asked. "Isn't there usually..."

"What?" Terry asked.

"Well, I feel a bit silly asking now, but aren't there usually good people? Don't they usually join up to make a good side?" she continued. "We're... children. Adults don't expect anything of us in the nor- well, in the Muggle world." _Sometimes I forget that Hannah was raised by a normal mother. The way she sees things is going to be similar to the way I see them. _"Honestly the very most they can reasonably expect is survival. We adapt, we survive, and then they fix it for us, right?"

_I shouldn't be so hard on her._

"Hannah, that's what they're trying to do by fighting wars against each other. They're trying to fix things... at least for their children," she added. "It probably has to do with how Voldemort died, though that's only a theory. From what I understand, it was a defining moment to some, but for most people it was just another grim day, that a young couple barely managing to kill him with some kind of warding that required them to die- it was all to be expected. No one really won the war, so some would say it never really stopped. The Death Eaters kept trying to expand their influence, only in a subtler manner, and the wizarding world grew increasingly dissatisfied with ideals and increasingly willing to descend to their level."

Ron looked annoyed, but ultimately contained himself. Having spoken with him, he had basically been fine with killing Death Eaters in the field while they were threats, but drew the line at throwing them in Azkaban without trials. He knew somewhat more about how the Ministry worked than the rest of the group, so it fit. He had been uncomfortable with the act of killing Ebony more so than the idea of it, but that had been because he was eleven or twelve, and had yet to realize they were the same. _He probably blames himself for everything that she's done since then._

The meeting concluded without further fanfare, with Terry and herself returning to Ravenclaw Tower to keep up appearances. The other two would stay, probably because neither House left a candle in the window for them, and they were safer as long as no one knew where they were, which seemed to go against a children's survival rule she had learned a long time ago.

"That room really does have some incredible magic. Do you think there's a time dilation?" the black haired wizard asked as they walked.

"I can't be certain. If it does, it is most likely not an extreme effect, and Ron and Hannah will just be a little better rested tomorrow morning."

"Maybe we should sleep there," he suggested as they reached a landing.

"There aren't enough beds," she objected without emphasis, having explored the place.

"I know," Terry answered. "I don't mind sleeping on the couch," he added at length.

In silence they were on the stairs, which seemed a little more cooperative than they had been.

Hermione hoped the other students would not notice the missing two. However unlikely they were to say or do anything, a few of the Gryffindors had started to associate with the conspiracy, meaning it was possible their combined absence would be noted._  
_

"Of course, there's another possible explanation for that," she muttered to herself, perhaps channeling Hannah. She sighed with a faint smile, shaking her head as Terry worked out the riddle with the silver head, having decided to take on the challenge himself. _I mean, that would never work, with her heart being elsewhere as it is. _She hardly thought of herself as someone who lost sleep over such matters, but it was just so obvious she could not help but notice. _I hope Neville is happy with her._

The wizard got the riddle in reasonable time and they passed through, finding yet another of Ravenclaw's famous debates going on. She nodded at her friend to indicate they would split up, go around the crowd and up to their respective dormitories, presumably meeting again in the morning, though they woke at different times. It appeared her way was mostly clear, but had Terry the same desire to avoid getting involved in anything, he would have no such luck, navigating around Roger Davies and someone she did not recognize embroiled in an argument.

"Say, Boot," he called, flagging him down as the room seemed to quiet a bit. "Lovegood and Chang were saying you had some disagreement about the Statute of Secrecy and what they teach in History. Chang's of the opinion that what the books say is true. Lovegood here isn't so sure." Hermione exhaled loudly, though it was improbable anyone heard her. Davies had a simple way of speaking that made him sound like a simpleton to most people who did not know him.

"Well, if everything they're telling us is true, that the wizards of the fourteenth to seventeenth century could easily escape executions, to where they'd let themselves get caught just for the fun of it..." he started to trail off. _I remember that passage from Bathilda Bagshot's _A History of Magic. _It always did seem a bit weird._

"Go on."

"...then the passage of the Statute of Secrecy makes no sense. I had to write an essay on why 'witch burning in the fourteenth century was completely pointless'. If it was pointless for them to try to kill us, what was the point of Secrecy? If we needed to fix bad relations, why did we choose hiding specifically? I've heard some people say that they weren't a threat to us in general, but they were a threat to individual people, but then why couldn't we protect ourselves? I honestly don't know the answers to these questions and I really would rather have an explanation than an argument, but-"

If Terry had been hoping to go to bed without being drawn in for further discussion, he had hoped in vain.


	10. Keeping up with the Joneses

"How's school, Neville? Are you caught upon things?" Hannah asked, moving a lock of hair out of her face. _I haven't cut it in months. It might be about time. _

"I guess so, though Ms. Jones says I have a good bit to learn. Apparently we're behind where we should be." _Hermione felt the same way. Everyone's depressed because Voldemort is back and no one knows what to do, or if it's even worth it to learn. _The last time she had been to Hufflepuff Basement, one of Electrum's friends was leading the group with a discussion on why the school should abandon 'useless' charms in favor of charms not covered, like the Patronus. Hannah imagined the reason they did not learn that particular spell either had to do with it being hard, or hopelessly ineffective against werewolves.

"Well, if you need any help with anything you can always ask your friends," she offered, wondering if he had been introduced to Terry.

"Silver's busy most of the time."

"Neville, he's busy not caring about you. I don't know why you still keep up with him."

"Hannah, he was a friend to me when no one else was," Neville answered. Remembering they were in class, he kept his voice down. "He brought my painting to my bedside."

Tears formed, but she looked down to her notes. _He doesn't know. He doesn't know that I helped._

Professor Trelawney was going on about the future in the front of the room, though what she had always thought seemed to disagree with the notes she was taking.

"I sense that questions form in the most inquisitive of minds." _I think that's fair. I have been asking a lot of questions. _She put her hand down. "And as soon as it appears, the moment passes, the vapors forget their means and dissolve..."

It appeared some of the Slytherins were writing it down more diligently than the Hufflepuffs, which confused her.

Another hand went up, breaking the flow of the lecture again.

"With a different air there is again a question, and yet the image in the Inner Eye is the same." She whipped around to a Hufflepuff girl with her hand raised. _I think she's Megan. _"Was it you, Miss Jones?"

"Yes. Where is Voldemort?"

For a moment it seemed the instructor would only respond with a completely baffled look, but that was not to remain.

"Though the vapors take us in unexpected directions, the discussion must remain on course, lest I fail to awaken the eyes within my students," Professor Trelawney answered, as though she were talking mostly to herself, looking around the room. "I have confined my predictions to become a teacher and I would ask each class to confine their questions to become students of the arts..."

Though it seemed like she was avoiding the question, more than anything else, Hannah decided that the explanation actually made sense. Moreover, it was one that asked only the same respect that she had demonstrated.

At the same time, if Trelawney could confine her predictions by using some method, Hannah would like to see it herself, as she imagined what it would be like to have much longer hair, then much shorter hair.

"Thank you for the interesting explanation," Megan said, expression entirely unchanged. "If, outside of class, you would be able to make a prediction regarding the whereabouts of Voldemort, I can think of any number of people who would be interested." _Since he didn't show up last year, I doubt even the Death Eaters know where he is. _Hannah and Ron had already come to the conclusion that there was some probability the Ministry would try to install people in their ranks. Though they most likely had a good screening process, those trying to join would at least probably overhear things, even if their applications were rejected. The relative absence of their leader from the public, apparently a sharp contrast from his last appearance, suggested that he had decided to take advantage of the common hope that he had not returned, that the witnesses at Hogwarts were children who did not know what they were seeing.

The class continued as she could reasonably expect was normal, though it continued in the context of the other Hufflepuff witch's question. The students in her House were patiently listening, though a few of them smirked occasionally.

After leaving Divination they headed to the Great Hall to eat, where Neville would meet with his tutor.

"Does she really take up every spare minute of your time?" Hannah asked with a probably misplaced hope.

"She might have told me that she'll be here a shorter time if she's with me for longer each day." He checked his Remembrall. _I guess it's good he's made use out of that thing._

"I see," she responded simply, noticing the wizard seemed somewhat down. He had put on a bit of weight since she had last seen him, which fit, if it had been his grandmother fattening him up the whole time, though he was no longer rotund like he had been. She remembered wondering if he were part of some elaborate plan to be dragon food. _Poor Neville, he'd have never seen it coming._ "Is there something wrong?" she asked, picturing his telling her that it was only being stressed from having to constantly shove information in his head, only to forget a lot of it. _That's not the only possible explanation, though._

"Yeah, kind of," he responded at length as they were walking, the portraits waving at the two of them. "They haven't figured out if the same thing can work on my parents."

"Oh. Did they tell you how they had the idea it would work on you?"

"I don't remember." He shook his head as they entered the hall. "I'm sorry."

The black-haired witch she presumed to be Hestia Jones was waiting for them. She was a bit younger than Hannah had imagined, but that was fine; she was sure Neville would be none too distracted from his studies.

"You must be Hannah."

"I could be; I could be a Death Eater in disguise," she responded, not knowing whether to extend a hand or not. To her surprise, the tutor laughed.

"I might have expected as much. You're probably wondering who I am, since I would not think Neville has remembered much apart from my name." The three of them sat down for lunch, the young wizard strangely quiet. "I am from Holyhead, originally... are you a muggleborn?" she asked after a pause.

"No," the Hufflepuff witch responded curtly.

"I see. Well, most of the people who do not ask me about being related to Gwenog Jones are muggleborns, and a tidy sum of them, there are." Hannah nodded. The witch had a bit of a Welsh accent, which fit the story, though those could be faked. "You look like you've figured me for a regular Gog."

"I've never been to Wales," Hannah explained, hoping it was sufficient. "I don't know who Gwenog Jones is either."

"My marital cousin is the captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Perhaps you know my niece, Megan? I was proud to find she was sorted into Hufflepuff."

Hannah squinted for a moment before coming to a conclusion.

"I had not assumed she was related to you." _Maybe this is how Hermione feels. _"I had imagined 'Jones' was a common surname."

"It is in the muggle world, though you would not know that, of course. A pure-blood witch, you are."

"I'm a half-blood," she explained blankly. _How did you become a tutor?_

"Ah. Much more believable, that."

As she ate it seemed Neville was inclined to get Hestia to teach him something, though it was quite possible he only wanted to keep the two of them from fighting. The older witch had revealed herself to be a Hufflepuff, and one given to making totally unfounded assumptions, then doubling down on them when contradicted. Hannah knew better than to hypocritically conclude prematurely that she was an evil woman, but she had more than enough information to call her incredibly annoying. Not everyone annoying was evil, and she could imagine more than a few ways in which an evil person would be charming or amicable, though that annoyed her in itself.

She did admit to herself, however, that she might have guessed the witch was a Hufflepuff.

For one, she had supposed that she was a muggleborn, which was improbable since a majority of Hogwarts students were not, and only because she had never heard of the Holyhead Harpies. Not only did she suspect that there were students from muggle backgrounds who followed Quidditch, but also pure-blood students who could not be persuaded to care. To make it worse, the tutor assumed she was lying, probably to disguise herself from the purists, and only because she had said she was not.

Hannah rose at the earliest opportunity and left, overhearing the weight of the 'Anti-Voldemort' movement, which of course interested her. For her own part, she did not think it was terribly realistic or fair of her to expect Neville to be willing to make personal sacrifices in what seemed like a terror war, rather than a movement, at least at this point. Her classes were not over, so she went to Transfiguration, hoping to get some work done in the classroom before the instructor arrived, since she could get exactly none done anywhere near the tutor. _I don't know how Neville does it._

Unwilling to dedicate any more thought to Hestia Jones, she started writing her fifteen inch essay question due over the weekend as a pair of Ravenclaw girls showed up, talking quietly between themselves. As nearly as she could discern without making any special effort, it was about an argument that had taken place recently, and to a lesser extent, Terry.

"I for one perfectly well know what he was on about, I just happen to think he's barking. I mean, let's say it's true. Who would bring it up? That's how you get ostracized, sooner or later." Hannah continued working in silence, careful not to write down anything they were saying, or responses to what they were saying. _The facet of Transfiguration that concerns live humans comes with a number of complications._

"Well, yes, but haven't controversial positions become the norm in the past?" the other one asked rhetorically. "If you think about it, more or less everything people believe started out as a fringe opinion." _Firstly, the user is most commonly transfiguring himself, as he is most familiar with his own form. This makes it difficult for a wizard to experiment.  
_

"I've no doubt. The thing is, a lot of things people don't believe and have never heard of started out as unpopular beliefs. They stayed that way, then died out." _In practice, human transfiguration is limited to the Animagi, wizards who can turn back and forth into an animal keyed to his basic nature. _The Ravenclaw girl laughed, then got a book out of her schoolbag. Hannah did her best not to break her concentration, or her quill for that matter. "Really, though, let's say there's some controversial view on the horizon and you've figured it's more likely than not to become the normal perspective. The logical thing to do is to quietly declare support for it a few years in advance, then it will look like you just _truly _believed it, not that you adopted the majority opinion." _The process of mastering an animal form can be presumed to be difficult, since it is not widely practiced, but many wizards likely have no use for the ability.  
_

"Well, what if it's not true?"

The Hufflepuffs filed in, mostly as a group before there could be any answer to the question.

Class started as soon as Professor McGonagall arrived, in the form of a cat, of course. _What better way is there to demonstrate human Transfiguration?_

The students were oddly quiet during the lesson, which she quite possibly should have expected. _Less serious students may have transferred out of here already. It would not be surprising after what happened last year... or the year before that. _As if to make matters worse, there were rarely any redeeming sides to the response on behalf of the school, except possibly keeping the students alive despite overwhelming odds and the fiascos that had been allowed to develop. She had an idea that it was basically impossible for the school or its leadership to predict and respond to an invasion by what seemed to be the entire force the Death Eaters commanded, and what they had managed was impressive in that context, but everyone outside the school expected miracles, or at least something to show for all the trouble. _Well, the next time we see Voldemort, we'll just have to ask if he can let us have something.  
_

The teacher stopped her after class.

"Miss Abbot?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"I am aware that you go to some length to avoid the rest of the students in your House." As they were speaking, the others were leaving from the back right corner of the room, the Ravenclaws having been in a stripe across the diagonal. Hannah pursed her lips momentarily.

"I arrived first today. Everyone else... arranged themselves around me, Professor." She doubted the excuse would work, since it was not every day she arrived first, but really she was contradicting something the instructor knew to be true already, which was generally a waste of time.

"Has Professor Sprout talked to you about this?"

"She has, madam, more than once." _Twice, to be exact. _What had happened, as she remembered it, was that the Herbology teacher had told the conspiracy that it basically should not exist, and that while student groups are permitted, they should strive to be inclusive. Seeing her left by the wayside, she had asked Hannah if the other students had excluded her, and she explained the situation. Hannah was pretty sure the only other time was in response to her loss of her vision, which prompted exactly no visits from other Hufflepuffs. "I don't get along with them and they don't get along with me, I think." _I wouldn't join them if offered, but I doubt they would offer anyway. Though my inclusion would make for a more unified House, Ernie and Justin and the rest of them don't really need me._

"At Hogwarts we prefer to allow students to resolve conflicts between themselves, as this serves to help them grow up, but in the past we have had isolated, bullied students who have led worse lives than they could have. See that you report it, should any of the students present a problem for you in a direct, clearly offensive manner."

Hannah nodded before thinking up a question.

"Do you know Hestia Jones?"

"She was one of my students," the teacher responded with something of a knowing nod. "If you have concerns regarding her trustworthiness, be aware that Headmaster Dumbledore and I gave her a recommendation for the position. She is no Ebony."

"I didn't think she was evil or anything, Professor," Hannah stated, frowning slightly. "I only wanted to know what her qualifications were." she said, reminding herself of an adult on a television program. "Thank you," she offered as she left, turning around again as she reached the door. "Why do you turn into a cat?" she asked.

"My Patronus is a cat. If you learn to cast the charm, it usually serves as a predictor for your Animagus form," the Transfiguration instructor responded, offering a brief smile. "Does this relate to your homework?"

"I'm not sure, Professor. It might just be a personal question." She paused, deciding she still had a few minutes. "Is it because you like cats?"

"I never had a cat, Hannah," she responded, using the young witch's given name. "There was, however, a cat who was my friend, though that was many years ago. Another tale for another time, I suppose."

Hannah smiled at the chance of a double meaning and left the room, proceeding with the rest of her classes. Sighing poignantly to herself, she realized why they would not be getting any additions to the group from Ravenclaw. _They're not mad enough to help us. At this point, they've either flown the coop like Anthony or they will soon. If Terry could have brought anyone with him, he would have.  
_

Doing her homework on a bench in an alcove, she thought to herself that it was not right to call them cowards, or to deride them for trying to get out of the work of freeing Britain from Death Eaters. For one thing, she did not have the first clue how her friends were going to do that, only that if they had a plan, she would help; she would do whatever she could. Without a plan, fighting them was a death sentence, since they definitely had one.

Overhearing a passing crowd of students, it appeared the rumors about the Edict being enforced as a punishment were true. She looked up from her work to see Ernie and Malfoy's henchman Crabbe being led out of a classroom by Professor Umbridge, the latter dour and the former grinning like a mayor at a ground-breaking ceremony. _This could have been his idea, but it could also have been Electrum who put him up to it._

Deciding she would hear the entirety of it later, she returned to her work.

_Though it is unknown what binds a wizard to his Animagus form, it is likely the same as what binds him to the form of his Patronus charm. _Hannah sighed, getting out her Charms book to better understand what she was writing for Transfiguration.

She imagined her Patronus would be a bee.


	11. Enforcing the Edict

"So this happened why?" Nott was asking Crabbe, looking over his wand. As expected, the ward was visible only if you waved a different wand over it, and the light of the spell form would fade quickly.

"The blood traitor, Macmillan attacked me out of nowhere on the stairs and I retaliated. Goyle wasn't around, but a few of his mudblood friends were." Draco and Nott exchanged a look at the grammatical ambiguity. Goyle had no mudblood friends at all, but Macmillan probably had a few.

"Granger?" he asked, glancing around the common room with a feigned expression of disinterest. _No one's listening. A fine thing it is, that they know to keep their distance. _In the past year, Draco's company had gained some repute in Slytherin, though they still had to make up for first year.

"No, I don't know them, but I think they were his House, or most of them. I managed to knock a few of them out, but I can't go dropping bodies," Crabbe explained, adopting an annoyed look. "Does anyone know what this damn spell does or do I have to read a book again?"

"It's a modification of the Trace ward," Nott stated.

"The Trace?" It appeared Goyle was not familiar with the term.

"Much of the island is warded with the Trace, though in magical areas the ward is weaker for all the conflicting wards." Draco explained. "Limiting the effect of the Trace to muggle areas is a blessing in disguise, as it allows children to perform magic when not one of the ignorant filth is around to see it. Consider the ward to be a complementary extension of the Trace to the wand itself." He was aware of the history of the arguments revolving around the Trace, mostly regarding the injustice of how imprecise it was, that the crimes could not be pinned on the true offenders, making the law nearly useless, and for some the Edict was a solution to the problem, though for Hogwarts students the purpose was to see who was practicing magic with combative potential. _Of course, this is the government's ignorantly narrow view of war with which we must contend. I expect Nott could practice all of his favorites with impunity._

"Complimentary as in free?" Goyle asked.

"No, you oaf," Nott muttered. Zabini seemed to smile with his eyes from across the room, though he did so in a manner that could have meant anything. _He's worked out a spell to heighten his own hearing, aren't I fortunate. _"Especially not now that we need to get your dunderhead friend a new wand."

"He'll trade with one of the Hufflepuffs," Draco interjected, waving a hand at the idea. _It's a good way of pinning crimes on the unsuspecting and it saves me a few galleons. _"The wand should recognize you as its master if you defeat the owner. Don't bother trying to transfigure the exterior of your own, just leave it behind and go."

"Do I need to kill my opponent or will disarming him be enough?"

"The latter, I believe." _I can't have you killing anyone here, not with the risks. _He looked away, mentally conceding that Crabbe was probably only confirming what he suspected. "Goyle can look over your shoulder, just don't cast anything except the sleep assist. Pretend to have insomnia; I don't care." _If the purpose of the ward is to monitor the practice of combative magic, I'm not having it on his record. _"What we need to know is how the information is being perused." _If it's anything like the Floo Network, it's a nightmare, but it has to be better than the Trace._

"_Warding in War _by Eleizer Arundel might have what you need; I'll go over it," Nott explained. "Of more novel concern is this," he decided as he handed Draco a letter, opened already, before leaving. _Nott always seems to have places to be._

"What's that?" Goyle asked, not seeming to realize there was a reason it had not been read for the group at a snail's pace.

"A trifling matter, to be sure. Inform Creevey that he is to stay away from crowds of Hufflepuffs when you see him next."

"Is it for their safety or is it for his?" Crabbe joked, though Draco expected he at least understood the seriousness.

"The reason the blood traitor attacked you is because he doesn't mind having his wand warded, but he really wants yours to receive the same treatment. If we allow enough of them to attack us, they're going to be out of clean wands before long." _We'll have time to get one for Crabbe, and assuming a few more Slytherins are attacked by one scared little Hufflepuff or another, we can likely replace those._

In the last few days he had received a letter from his father detailing the plan to set the narrative for the school governors in response to his explanation of the situation on the ground. Essentially, with at least four of them raising concerns about the students not being educated, there was almost enough support to have Undersecretary Umbridge replaced, and more than enough for the time being to keep her powers from expanding.

_Draco, it is of utmost import that you manufacture an incident unrelated to the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, class, curriculum, et cetera. Act on the name of our House, yet remember that the Dark Lord is watching; he rewards cunning and initiative and disregards the incompetent._

Having given more than enough thought to the matter, with more ideas than he cared to consider, he retired to his chambers at long last, reading the letter.

_Theodore, _

_It was good of you to aid in my escape. Thanks. I learned that the Dark Lord has plans for me, so I suppose hiding in Malfoy Manor wasn't to last anyway. I can't say where I'm going, but let Draco know I borrowed some winter cloaks. I hope he doesn't mind.  
_

_I suppose I should inform him that the prisoner escaped as well, but you can give this letter to him. The house elf swears he had nothing to do with it. I'm sure you can find him, unlike the Hufflepuffs who were looking for him during the battle. They might have the combined intelligence of a bowtruckle, but I can't be certain. I once had one that recognized its own name._

There was no indication of who sent the letter, though it was rather plain that Evan had penned it himself, having stayed with the Malfoy family as perhaps the quietest house guest they had ever entertained. His writing could use some work, but there was at least a commoner's wit to the prose. He suspected, of course, that the Heir was hinting where exactly he was bound, though really it was a moot point. His disappearance coincided with the start of school, and he still needed to learn. _One particular school comes to mind, and it would afford an opportunity to follow the money if I looked into it._

Essentially, Draco had realized that while the mysterious young man could be a great friend, he was just as like to become a rival, and whatever the boy's father thought it would be better if he knew about Evan than if he were in the dark. _If he truly has no intent to compete with me, I shall aid him in any way I can. Of course, he may be a true Slytherin and in that event he should have seen it on the horizon.  
_

The following day would come with plans to realize and little enough time between classes. _All I have is the mystery of why the train stopped. We call the school governors to examine the situation, then they stop looking into Umbridge, at least for the time being._

Fortunately for him, Crabbe had said that he had overheard Zabini and Tracey Davis talking about it, which provided him with good news and bad news. There was the intrigue that someone had actually seen that the cause of delay was a corpse, with the drawback that the train had been crossing his family's lands at the time. His mind briefly went to the escaped prisoner. _No- that's absolutely impossible. It couldn't have been the man Amycus dragged in over a year ago, I would have thought he starved... Hestia and Flora might know.  
_

The young witches had publicly denied for years having anything to do with their father or his sister, still maintaining that both were under the Imperius. They rarely took part in the rumor mill, though they were only related to low-ranking Death Eaters, so it fit the form. Fortunately, he found them talking with Padma at breakfast.

"A fine morning to you as well, Padma," he said in response to a little wave. "How do you know the lovely Carrows?"

"I was just getting to know them today," she explained, looking over his shoulder momentarily. _Father will say I picked the right witch. If the elf says 'which witch', he'll be separating the grains of floo powder by shape and color. _"How is your world, Draco?"

"All in order," he responded, a gentle smirk gracing his lips. "Of course, I would be still happier if the guest Amycus had invited were a bit more sociable."

Hestia was making an expression of concern, though Flora pretended not to notice the implication.

"Amycus _Carrow_?" Padma asked, yet inexperienced about how to play around with information. _Alas, there are things that can be learned in books, and things that give our family reason to burn down bookstores. _"What a coincidence."

"What do you mean he's not sociable?" Hestia asked. She was outwardly identical to her sister, though Nott had taught him a trick for telling them apart.

_Hestia's the mad one._

"I find it difficult to use my usual charms to extract any information from him. They say I have a sharp tongue and a rather hot temper, yet for some reason he remains tight-lipped about the simplest things, even as I show him much of what the Manor has to offer. I would even venture to call him uncouth. Wherever did your father find him?" he asked, muttering the muffling charm to dissuade eavesdroppers.

"Our father and mother have long since separated, so I would not know what countries he has visited recently," Flora responded. "Have you considered the possibility that your guest simply does not speak the same language?" she asked, pretending it was a joke.

"I have tried French, of course. Alas, a mere word out of him would be all I should need to determine his origin, and yet perhaps he fears that if he looses one, he would spend entire evenings talking. I assure you, he continues to have a tongue, that much I can see through the gap in his teeth." It was a blatant lie, not even plausible, but it delivered the point well enough. In actual fact, Draco had only made a nominal effort to have information out of the prisoner, and only after he expected Greyback had most of it out. He could ask for a transcription from the werewolf or his father, he supposed, but he would do well to practice the art. Without knowledge of how to perform the Cruciatus, it was slow going and bloody, but he expected Greyback never used it.

"Perhaps Russian would be a good start, since so many peoples can speak it," Flora returned.

"I happened upon a book on the subject," Padma announced. _Coercion? _She shook her head, telling him his expression had been enough. "There are rather esoteric charms that translate a text from one language to another."

"Of course you have," he decided, internally debating over raising a glass or no. "I expect that you may yet make the perfect hostess, should the idea please you." The heir to the Malfoy name was perfectly aware his manner of speech would probably be infuriating to a majority of students at the school, but they were rarely present for private discussions, most fortunately not private discussions with witches, one of whom he liked well enough; the others he despised. _-all the more reason to maintain decorum. _His mother had taught him well.

He had, of course, tried to get the other boy's surname out of the teachers, but apparently in accordance with his wishes they had not been informed of it. _At least now I know more about the prisoner, which gives me an idea of where he's going.  
_

Amycus and Alecto took orders from the Lord Voldemort, and if one of them was traveling to Russia or somewhere nearby and kidnapping someone, it would have been he who gave it, as it had been he who told Evan to follow him there. _He's almost certainly going to Durmstrang, and almost certainly because the Dark Lord made straight the way there. _

The body would be another matter. Fortunately, he saw someone who could help.

"Professor Snape."

"Mr. Malfoy."

"We know what caused the train to stop. A paucity of students saw a body on the tracks." The teacher acknowledged what he was saying without nodding. From what Draco knew, he had come under questioning by the school after Evan disappeared, though that made sense as he was the Head of House.

"It is as unsurprising now as when the staff were informed of the disturbance and its reason, Draco. The Hogwarts Express cannot run for a hundred years without striking someone," he explained as he walked, not looking at the younger Slytherin. "That students have seen it means nothing; there are always rumors of this nature."

"Sir, I have reason to suspect-"

Snape turned on his heels.

"I have reason to believe that this can be made to look like the school's fault. That it's being covered up will do them no-"

"I shall consider your proposal, Mr. Malfoy," he muttered back.

As a Death Eater, the wizard almost certainly knew of the necessity of keeping Umbridge in her position, though he imagined the task irked him even more than it did the Lord Voldemort, or perhaps just the same. The Lord Malfoy's words came back to him. _Draco, your Potions master is a cruel, vengeful man for whom I have very little respect. He imagines that James Potter cheated him out of the love of a mudblood, that much was plainly related to me by the Dark Lord himself. Trust him to know dark curses of every descript, trust him to teach you all you need to know of potions, but never trust him to put that which is right and necessary over what is convenient for his twisted heart.  
_

Deciding the Head of Slytherin House may well keep the story from reaching the board of governors, he knew better than to think himself out of the woods. _I'll have Creevey return Father's letter- if he knows of the incident, he may at least broach the idea should the school governors attempt to remove the Supreme Undersecretary. No- it would be better to notify someone other. If my father continues to defend the old wart, enough of them will wonder why, and it would not do if I were to complete the task assigned me simply by writing him back with a mote of information. _There were witnesses, he knew, and likely enough there were people the witnesses told; soon there would be little effort required for any of the prestigious governors to travel to the school and investigate the matter.

Making his way to Defense, expecting to be a minute or so late, he smirked briefly at the thought, since at least there would be those who noticed his entrance.

"Mr. Malfoy?" the toad woman remarked as he found a seat.

"Yes, Professor?"

"You are late. Do not make a habit of it," she scolded, probably with no intent at all to administer punishment. _Even if she cared little to let Slytherins like myself from the inconvenience of warded wands, she knows well the bread is buttered on the side of the nobility. Alas, if she imagines my father will do her favors, the turning of the wheel of fortune will be quite the shock for her.  
_

Draco knew the plan as well as any of the Death Eaters- Umbridge would sit on her throne of confiscated wands, but not for long. When the blood purists had control of the school, they would have a new teacher of Defense, or Battle Magic as it was called in proper times. The Supreme Undersecretary would shrug her pudgy shoulders and continue unwittingly serving the Dark Lord by warding the wands of common wizards, not even as a punishment for a crime. If the _Prophet _had the right of it, there was already an office in Diagon Alley where wizards would be required to appear to have their wands registered, which would be necessary for obtaining future work license- in this way, the Edict was _voluntary_.

As perfect a plan as it was, he might have smirked, but he was not yet through with his last one and it would not do to have the class think he had thought of something funny- those with their wands registered would be those who put something as transient and mundane as a work license above the preservation of magic itself, who were guaranteed to be those the blood purists could not use. Most likely, they would have never fought the Death Eaters as things were, but if they realized the return of the Dark Lord he expected enough of them could be frightened into raising their wands in opposition.

_It will, as a matter of course, be too late for them. The greater part of the Ministry may wish to expand its control over the populace, but they key the power to their offices, not to themselves. Like muggles they attempt to control the world through politics, but we shall have their positions or their undying loyalty in a manner that befits wizards.  
_

_All of Britain will see that magic is might._


	12. Interlude: Wah and Wahde

The brother and sister pair had for weeks returned to school, and with that the brother's disappearances became decidedly more suspect.

At home, it was not entirely out of the ordinary for him to go off working an odd job, or looking for a job to work. It was not even unheard of for young men to work without telling anyone, since telling people would invite them to ask for money, and a request from a friend or family member would obligate him unconditionally. There were students from the south, mostly the lighter ones, who did not understand, and Wahde expected they would never understand, but it was truly unthinkable to refuse, not by the untold thousands of years of cultural practice and tradition. All the same, it made sense for Wah to want to keep his money. If he just gave it out every time a friend or relative darkened his door, he would never marry and most likely never build a house of his own. Building it, with his abilities in Transfiguration, would present no particular challenge, the trick was securing a plot.

"Pay attention in class, Wahde. Do not let the boys catch you staring," Professor Najjemba scolded, almost certainly aware that her student was not staring at boys. Wahde knew better than to correct this, since it would only invite further jokes.

"Yes, Professor," she responded, taking out her wand from her desk, unable to store it in the traditional colored dress that the school had decided would be a girl's uniform. _Liberia needs her own school._

"What is the first rule of Transfiguration?" the teacher asked the room of wizards and witches in English, one of the official languages of Uganda.

"_Hakuna ambacho hakitawezekana,_" A young man from the front row responded. Wahde recognized few of her classmates, but she could pick out Idi well enough from the fact that he answered questions in Swahili, knowing the instructor could understand him, but many of the students could not. She theorized he was trying to cut everyone else out of the benefit of his answering questions, or at least people who were not Bantu and therefore unlikely to understand the language. _We already do not have classes in French for the students who speak it. The language barriers are bad enough without his help._

"You are exactly correct, Idi," the teacher responded. "Nothing is impossible."

It was a common misconception outside their school that Transfiguration had only avenues and ways by which one thing could be turned into another. Centuries and centuries had passed and seas of ink had been spilt into books about all the rules and laws, but really they were constantly being replaced, reinterpreted; revolutionized. Wahde was certain that other people knew much and more about magic, but they understood it from their own perspective, or perhaps they understood a different kind of magic. Perhaps even there was magic that they could perform and magic that others could perform, the nonmagical uniquely unable to perform any kind of magic at all. At the school, it seemed that all of Africa brought many different kinds of magic, and the wizards who preferred to be called philosophers or shamans would debate at length regarding the unified or otherwise basic nature of magic. The land that supplied the school with students was a vast continent, all over there were many different cultures and ethnic groups, and the school was no exception. There were students with Western wands, staffs from the north, and there were those who preferred to carry no wand at all.

This and many other reasons had various groups calling for a separation, construction of new schools that would teach magic differently, or perhaps different magic.

In History of Magic they learned that the European wizards seemed to learn in a similar manner from one country to the next, and she supposed that fit. If one school were enough for a continent, perhaps one type of magic was enough for a continent that preferred to have multiple schools. Of course, there were different peoples and cultures there, but they had largely learned to get along, and perhaps the magic was born of compromise, as some suggested. Unique works of magic came up when people invented them, and of course whenever someone unearthed something old and esoteric.

As the instructor continued with the lesson, calling on students to transfigure things, she wondered if they had a spell to locate her older brother. She knew without any ambiguity that her mother told her he was a man grown, and able to look after himself, but there was the possibility her mother was just hoping he had found a job, unwilling to interrupt him from it if that were the case. While magical society lived at a higher standard than the nonmagical, wars made things difficult and the nonmagical locals provided the main source of food. Things were going considerably better in the Bantu region than they were at home in Liberia, as the do-no-magics called it. It was a challenge to sort out their countries, especially since some of them were named well after the passage of the Statute of Secrecy. _Most of the Western lands have it __easy. They always knew what their countries were. Well, it seems that way._

As class finally let out, she set to working on her homework, which mercifully consisted only of practice in her potionmaking, which she mostly accomplished by transfiguring the roots, as opposed to how the books instructed. After homework she would look for her brother.

Uagadou had been build in what the nonmagical called Uganda, though it was much older, of course. It rose from the high mountains as a mountain of a structure, a steep domed spire of stone, as tall as the sky and as wide as the sea, much like a castle from Great Zimbabwe, all those years ago. The castle was equipped with cannon to deter invaders, especially effective since as the legends told, they let loose pure spellfire, and perhaps for that reason they had not been fired since the time of the legends.

In her free time after classes were over, Wahde ordinarily liked to transfigure clothes, but it seemed today she would be investigating Wah. _He has an original name. After he was born, my mother was so proud of him she called herself Wahde. Then she named me after herself. _At fifteen, this was something she had understood for a long time, but there was nothing for it. She would not be Wahde forever.

Outside the school, she was still above the mists of the Mountains of the Moon, the fabled source of the Nile, and the true source of the magic of all Africa. The mountaintops were cold, and she preferred the warm ground of the rainforest and the plateaus; there was a time even that she would say she preferred the desert, though she knew that this was foolish talk. The do-no-magics could not be allowed to find out that Uagadou existed, and there were limits to how effectively the school could be hidden unless the location was remote. The traditional understanding was that if enough people walked through an area, one of them would see something he was not supposed to see, and it would make all the difference. She had heard about the Statute of Secrecy and the reasons the Europeans and Americans had for coming up with it, but those did not convince her.

It was difficult to see how the lack of magical people was better for the do-no-magics. Without the ability to do magic, they could at least hire wizards and witches if they knew they existed, and then they would be capable of more. There would be inequality, of course, but it seemed there was inequality all the same, even if the magical populations gathered in the mountains that separated the nonmagical countries of Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, seated in the former only nominally. Uagadou had no contact with their governments, so the exact location was a moot point, only necessary to state the exact place in the Mountains of the Moon on the letters students received. _If we had one at home, I would build it on Mount Wuteve. _

Home was on the same continent, but a different world. At home she waded through the mangroves and charmed the water around her. Things were not perfect. There was war. There was need. All the same, it seemed at school she fought against the other students, or at least she competed with them, hoping she was growing for it. In class she could make a mistake, but out there the world seemed significantly less forgiving.

Wahde went down the mountain silently, looking for a good grove of trees, or perhaps one in particular. If she could say nothing else for the location of Uagadou, she would say that at least she could get down when she needed to, waving a hand at a carved wood statue near the entrance and finding herself on a short trail to the lush plain below, watered by the glaciers, lakes, and waterfalls, groves of various trees dispersed across the landscape. She steeled herself; she made an attempt. Wherever her brother was, his shadow would not be far behind.

Breathing out steadily, she cast a secret spell, and her shadow moved, first out in front of her, then she watched as its legs stretched to put the body on the trunk of a tree.

"Stay away from the dark," she ordered as the pair of them crept across the plain, her shadow avoiding the long, dark expanses under the larger trees, especially when the shadows intersected. Even she knew better than to set foot there. Where the shade is at its darkest, a black hand could be only just seen, its wicked grasp seizing unsuspecting children by their shadows and pulling them down, deep into the shade from which they never returned. These creatures, these demons, these spirits, had never been charted into the bestiaries of the explorers who sought out Erumpents and the like, and Wahde suspected they never would be. _Too much of what is known about them is preserved in people's words. The foreigners do not know the people. They do not believe the words._

Reaching the other side of the grove of trees, her shadow could stretch far, searching high and low as it went, each time avoiding the trees and their shadows.

_If my brother hides in the dark of the shade, I have not lost him. He has lost himself._

The witch was about to go back as she heard the cry of a white-bearded mountain monkey, locating it in a nearby tree.

"You are far from your home, monkey. Bwindi is far to the south of here."

The animal appeared to pay her no heed, and she lamented not being able to speak to monkeys, going back to the school alone and deciding that if she could not find Wah by shadow searching in the evening, she could not find him, at least not on her own. There were other options yet, she thought as she walked back up the path.

The secret entrance to the school was charmed to repel the do-no-magics, though it was tucked away well enough. A statue of carved wood, it resembled a woodland warbler, analogous to the Erumpent depiction that awaited her at the top. Waving her hand, she saw it again, no less fearsome than each time she had seen it last, though the magic of going from one place to another was something she had learned to take for granted.

Wahde weighed her options, deciding that the best course was to find her brother and confront him about his disappearances. She could only hope that he would treat her concerns with the same respect that she was demonstrating, which was the idea of him that she had from the past.

Wah was not a bad brother. All things considered, he was a good brother, if a bit protective. He had never gone against their parents, he had never done anything that other young men had not, and he gave her no reason to suspect anything malicious out of his disappearances. Searching for him out of concern made things more difficult than searching for him out of anger; it gave her reason to pause and respect his privacy, since she did not want to find that he only disappeared because he had made a girl pregnant and was doing his best to care for her. Ideas of that nature made her wonder if she were even doing the right thing.

In the school itself, she knew where to find his friends, and though she doubted they would just tell her where he had been going, they would be able to answer a few questions. _There is no need to lie. Instead, I choose my words carefully._

She found a friend of his, an Egyptian named Said. He seemed to be correcting another student on the origin of the Parselmouths being India rather than his homeland, though she would need to check the books on the subject to be sure herself. It was difficult to gain an understanding of the history of some study of magic when different places were trying to claim different things. The wizard before her, however, seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. He was proud of everything that Egyptian wizards had accomplished, and he let other places have their achievements.

"Said. Did my brother say he wanted you to go with him?"

"Not directly, no," the wizard responded, thinking about it seriously a moment. "I do not believe he needs me in his home country." _He has been going all the way back to Liberia each time?_

"In Egypt if you need help with change-shape-runes, would you bring him or a friend from home?" she asked, making it sound like a non-rhetorical question.

"A leading question demands another leading question, Wahde," the friend of her brother muttered back after a moment of thought. _Clever. He would outwit most boys in my class. _"Did you plan the search for your brother before or after you accepted the vampire project?"

The witch's eyes narrowed. _How does he know about that? _In short, she had agreed to participate in a study of the blood-suckers of Mali, though they referred to the area where they lived as the Dendi Kingdom. Though travel would be swift, it would take her far from her family.

"I would only like to know what he is doing. I want to know that he is not up to something dangerous." _No, now I sound weak. _"We need him to be alive at home. It is important to our family."

"Perhaps you should ask him yourself, though that may be a challenge. I have not seen him outside of class." _That is new._

"Perhaps so," Wahde responded. _If he is in class I can see him after class. His last class is Beasts of Magic._

Finishing her homework as the students of her brother's age were leading in the Erumpents, she overheard the last of the lecture Professor Nzinga was giving to her students.

"Be aware, students!" she called out. It appeared the great beasts were done with their grazing, and in their docile state. Docile, however, was a relative term. "Wizards are a greater danger to Erumpents than the other way around, but do not believe they are afraid of us. Be cautious and respectful to the magic and the majesty of the natural world."

"Yes, Professor," the majority of them called back, careful not to excite the herd as it was guided into the pen.

Her brother Wah took off as soon as the lesson let out with the assignment.

Somehow contrary to her expectations, he looked the same as always, short hair and murky eyes. He was about two years older than she was, on his final year at Uagadou. In the background the instructor was telling the students about the disappearance of the beasts from Egypt, which some students would investigate for their final projects.

"Leave me, Wahde," he muttered as she approached him. "I do not need you tagging along wherever I go."

"I do not need you disappearing for no reason."

"I disappear for reasons of my own," he responded, taking note of her tone. "Not for no reason do I leave."

"Tell me the reason," she insisted, noting oddities in his speech.

"It is better that you stay away. There is no good that can come of it."

"Did you want me to be more concerned?!" she asked, angry. _I do not care who is listening. They can all know how angry I am._

"I always want you to be concerned, sister. I live because my family loves me." As she turned away from his words she saw that a small crowd was forming, though most people were respectfully keeping their distance. "If I did not want you to be concerned, I would lie. Because I know you will not go after me, I shall tell you what you most need to know." He removed his Tebo hide shirt to reveal a red mark on the center of his chest. "There are evil wizards in the world, not just our home. They kill each other in secret wars. Some of them are fleeing to our home."

"You are lying!" Wahde shouted, almost reflexively. "You made that mark yourself."

"Some dark magic beyond my understanding has made a prisoner of me. I come when he calls, if I do not come I fear I may die." He put his shirt on again. "I wanted no part in their war, not when there are wars at home, not if there could ever be peace. The wizard and his friends took advantage of our neutrality."

"Then they are mad! You cannot trust them! We should never have let them flee here!"

Wah answered with a sad smile before turning away.

"If this is the last time you see me, I died as a prisoner, not a slave."

_I was not concerned about showing my anger. Now they will see me cry._


	13. The First Real Class

As far as Ron knew, the majority of the mad Hufflepuffs were warded, meaning they had been attacking various Slytherins, and quite a few of them were probably warded as well, though they knew better than to show it. Older students who knew something of Ancient Runes would offer to falsify a warding, making it look as though your wand had already been done, but Ron lacked the galleons and seriously doubted it would work; there had to be a list somewhere. _Hermione's learning wards and stuff anyway. If anyone can do a good fake, she can._

He was starting a strange partnership with Zabini, who seemed to be aware he had been unpopular with the Gryffindors the past few years. He was a blood traitor, of course, and he had opposed the Heir of Slytherin, but the young man was nothing if not ambitious, and willing to resort to controversial means to gain information, much like Malfoy had in first year with Neville. _I still haven't the foggiest why they're talking._

Zabini had informed him that there was a plan to swap wands with the Hufflepuffs if theirs ended up getting registered, though it was one of those decreasingly viable plans, meaning they were going to have to move on to Gryffindors and Ravenclaws at some point. Ron told him that he had better not bother with Seamus or Lavender, and there would be more than a few landmines with blue-trimmed robes. He needed not suggest that those would be good targets for any of his rivals or enemies. _I only hope Malfoy's one of them. Reckon he is._

The group was meeting in the mysterious room, arriving from different directions and at different times.

Hermione was presenting on runes and warding.

"Right, so, first you need to know about runes to ward things."

"What if we don't know runes?" Hannah asked. Ron had some idea she was being serious.

"Well, you learn them as you need them, I suppose," the Ravenclaw said. It appeared Terry had not arrived. It also seemed the first time his friend had not insisted on reading every word of any given book on a subject.

"What runes do you use a lot?"

"Well, that's a good question. I have to start with the language," Hermione explained. "Basically, a rune might mean something in another ancient language. I can't tell you how many things a circle means." She pointed at the tea table in the sitting room with her wand, making a circle out of wandlight, which then faded. _Reckon the table's not permanently changed or anything. _"This identifies the language of Elder Futhark." A glowing ᚨ appeared on the table as she traced above it with her wand.

"What's it mean?" Ron asked.

"It's the symbol for the Norse gods, the __æsir. __I believe it invokes them, or possibly the understanding of magic the Germanic peoples used. It's complicated and much of it remains uncertain; I only know they've been practicing it in Britain for centuries now, and they understand how to use it, if not the finer points of how it really works. It doesn't really do much by itself." She moved her wand again and placed another rune down, followed by more, all in a circle around the first. "These are words using the runes as letters," she managed after a few moments of concentration.

"That looks difficult."

"It is, but the advantage is that you can do it silently and you can apply magical effects to things indefinitely," Hermione explained, looking at Terry as he entered. "It's not hard to learn to write words in Elder Futhark, not when you know a few of them... it's really just a challenge to communicate exactly what you need, especially when it seems like there's really no limit to what you can do with it."

"What does this do?"

"It produces a mild chill. See that straight line? That's the word for ice," Terry explained, probably in the same class as the other Ravenclaw. "I put it on my own pillow and I've never slept better."

"That's pretty swell," Ron commented. "You can make them invisible too, right?"

"Yeah, it's a simple charm; they've had it for ages," Terry responded, waving a wand over Hermione's work. "If you're ever applying more than one ward to something it'd be nearly impossible to keep track of it all unless you could hide it."

"How did the Rune Meisters write them? They didn't have wands," Hannah asked.

"It should be possible to write effective runes without a wand," Hermione answered. "Engraving into rock is how they would have done it, but really wands make it so much easier it's not worth practicing. I mean, the best wardens can just point their wands and have complex runes appear. They don't have to do the wand motions or anything."

"Well, I don't want to bring it up any more than anyone else..." Ron started. "It's just that we started this to replace our Defense lessons, which we haven't been getting since first year..." In the same amount of time, he had yet to figure out whether or not Voldemort had honestly intended to teach them defensive magic for as long as he was in the position. _Bastard knew what he was teaching, that's for sure._

"We may be able to use the runes as traps," Terry explained. "Have you ever heard of a landmine?" He shook his head. "It's a weapon that explodes when you step on the ground above it."

"What's the difference between warding something and charming it?" Hannah asked.

"Warding is basically somewhere between known charms and spell creation. The Rune Meisters left us a language that we can use to build spells from the bottom up." _Terry must have been reading the same books as Hermione. _He noticed the bushy haired witch was nodding along with the explanation.

As it was Ron's turn, he took a potion out of his bag.

"Right, so generally I reckon we can brew potions without setting off the wards. I bought this one in Egypt, been poking around with it since I got back."

"What is it?"

"You've heard of strength potions. It's a speed potion."

"Plausible," Hermione commented. "I suppose you would be harder to hit in a duel. How is it made?"

"You use Sphinx hair instead of snake fang in the Strengthening Solution. Like I said, it's really similar. Tastes the same." As he took out his heavily marked potions book to show Hannah, he remembered doing some experiments in first year. _Simpler times- well, not really, I just couldn't think worth a damn. _

He remembered thinking himself pretty clever, at least for his age, and perhaps that was the case, though the end of the year taught him it had not been nearly enough. Other students wondered if they were getting average or above average test scores, but for the life of him he could not imagine why it mattered. _Average isn't good enough. It might be, sometimes, but not always. If you get the choice between average and good enough, always pick good enough.  
_

Terry had something to present, but Ron found it pretty short all things considered. He had practiced the summoning charm and demonstrated it, which Hannah had not seen before at the least, though Hermione explained that she had practiced the same charm two years ago, and could reliably get it with a couple of tries. The Ravenclaw wizard looked a bit flushed, insisting that he did not know, but should have suspected that she of all people would be able to learn it, a third or fourth year spell though it was.

Ron rolled his eyes, but only Hannah caught him. The other witch had turned a bit pink. _Merlin._

"Hannah, did you have something prepared?"

"I did, but it's only a couple of ideas I had. We don't have to go over them."

"Prob'ly good ideas, seeing as your ideas fixed up Neville," he muttered back. Terry raised his eyebrows, but Ron waved away any hope for an explanation. _No need for more witches turning pink._

"All right... I thought that we could talk about enchantments, but Hermione's thing about warding seems more... interesting? It seems like we could basically make up our own enchantments."

"Well, yes, but the advantage of existing enchantments is that they're faster and less prone to error," Terry explained. "If you have any in mind, I'm sure they'll be more useful to us than a charm someone already knows." _I reckon it might be more useful than a potion no one really seemed-_

"Okay, well, I asked Madam Pince for the list of books that have been checked out recently and she was a bit hesitant, but she gave it to me. Anyway, I found there was this book on Roman enchantments that Anthony had checked out a lot recently."

"-so it had you interested," Hermione said, nodding. _Reckon she's noting why it was worth mentioning._

"Right. I've been working through it and it's some hard stuff, but basically once I'm done with it I'll have something. I can't imagine anything I have learned so far would be terribly useful. I think we should practice warding and summoning."

There was a general agreement. Ron had talked with Terry a few days ago, and apparently the stunning spell was a bit of a trick, but worth it. It was faster than the full-body-bind, both in incantation and from the fact that it was a charm. Roger Davies knew it and had agreed to show him and Hermione at some point, though he would not know about the Gryffindor or Hufflepuff benefiting from the arrangement.

The summoning charm was challenging, to say the least, though in principle it was simple. The magical theory his friend was citing stated that he needed to have the object in his mind and envision it moving as he waved his wand in an arc. What was annoying was that it had to be more complicated than that, since he had been following the instructions exactly and it did not seem to be working on what Hannah said was an ash tray on the middle of the sitting room table. _Can't imagine why muggles need ashes. I really hope that's not how they display their old relatives after they've been put in the crisper._

Hermione already knew it and it looked like the other witch was at least getting things to move, so he looked in a book of runes. _Damn. I didn't think this plan through. _Apparently it was the same language mentioned earlier, but the text apparently required he memorize a few Elder Futhark words in order to write the effect that the ward would have. _Bloody hell. How does she have time for all this?_

At length the meeting let out, and he expected they had lost a few hours even if the theories about the time distortion were correct, but he had given his friends the potions he had made and counted it as a success. As always, Terry left with the other Ravenclaw, while Hannah went upstairs. The scene felt oddly domestic as he listened to the water running, though there was nothing for it. If anything, it was nothing like his own home where the shower ran all morning and he had just learned to drown it out, though in more recent years there was less competition. Percy had joined Bill and Charlie in the moving out club, and Ginny was Merlin knows where.

_Now I only have to fight Fred and George for it. Imagine my luck._

The twins had developed a strange seriousness about their pranks, but mostly things seemed significantly more secret, like they were trying to keep people from learning their ideas. At the end of the day they really were spectacularly hard workers, enough that he would have thought they would be in Hufflepuff, or at least George if not Fred.

As Ron finished up his homework, which he usually reserved for this particular hour of the day, he spared a thought for their heroism during the Death Eater invasion the previous year. Flying around on broomsticks, they were in their element, but woefully unprepared for the battle. Despite having never been in a real fight, at least not one that could potentially kill them, they rose to the occasion, even saving Zacharias Smith, though they might have done without that.

Resolving to talk to them the following morning as he got into the shower at long last, he wondered if they would be at all interested in the group for a moment before discarding the idea. Because George had carried the injured mess of him out on a broomstick, he had some idea the twins cared about him, at least a little, but they did not seem to care about classes at all, and would probably loathe the idea of a study group, especially when they already had their own things to do.

The following morning came more quickly than it had in the past, as he woke in a marginally more familiar bed. _No need to make too much out of it. _He felt a bit strange about leaving it unmade, even though probably no one else would ever see it, so he compromised and threw the sheets over the boy's bed and went downstairs. Hannah was something of an early riser some days, so it did not surprise him when she did not respond to a call of 'morning, Hannah'. _Then again, she might still be asleep. _Going back upstairs, he found the other bedroom was empty and it did not look like anyone had slept there, at least not in the last hour or so.

The clock indicated that he was too late for breakfast, which he might have expected. Having gotten ready he made his way to his first class, interrupted in the corridor by Dean, oddly enough.

"Are you studying this rubbish?" he asked, probably talking about the approved textbook for Defense.

"As much as I can read of it. Want to hit each other with spells?" They walked together. "We'd get a bit better that way."

"Parvati and I are in a study group with some older Gryffindors. We were about to invite you."

"Don't reckon I'd get along with all of them. Don't tell me you and Seamus are on the same page about things."

Dean looked back with a sidelong, but otherwise blank expression.

"I'm not a knob head, Weasley. There's a time and a place for fighting, but it's not my concern if half our House can't tell the difference between cowardice and being diplomatic- or keeping your head for that matter." There was a lingering violence in his words, something of a reserved anger. Ron had not forgotten the way he had fought in Dueling Club, or the battle for the school, for that matter.

Class started and talking had to be kept to a minimum. Seamus and Lavender cost Gryffindor a few points for 'disrupting class', but it was nothing outside the norm. Parvati saw him sitting with Dean and cast a charm he did not recognize.

"My sister showed me," she muttered quickly as if to answer the question his expression was asking. "Did you hear about what happened?"

"No," he muttered back. _Reckon it's safe enough if she's talking. Might be the charm puts us out of earshot._

"Hannah and Susan were attacked by Millicent and Tracey." _Better them than Crabbe and Goyle, I guess._

"Trading wands?"

"Yes, they got them both. It's not an immediate concern, but I thought you'd want to know."

Ron muttered a word of thanks as he thought about it. _Didn't think it'd be this quick, mainly._

In the corridor he learned that Dumbledore had made an announcement about the body on the tracks that morning, essentially saying that it had been destroyed beyond recognition by the train, and that there was an ongoing investigation. He reminded the students that it was not the fault of the Express, since the conductor had pulled the whistle and been unable to stop, but the man on the tracks had no intention of getting out of the way. There was a suggestion to forcibly apparate anyone on the tracks out of the train's path if he or she somehow got in it, but no serious attention had been paid to it since was the first time this kind of thing ever happened.

Basically no one had expected the announcement, since they had heard nothing out of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which had received the remains for examination after 'suspicious characteristics' were discovered. The students in the castle would have almost unanimously understood if Dumbledore wanted to prevent a panic, as panic was not exactly good and there was something to be said for waiting until the investigation concluded.

As near as the twins could figure, the students had essentially been on panic mode since the return of Voldemort.

Ron had not recognized it himself, but he realized he had seen it all along, the way no one seemed to go anywhere alone, the unnerving dedication everyone seemed to have in class, even the tone their voices seemed to have taken as the cleverer ones were leaving. The past eight Quidditch games had been sparsely attended and low scoring, perhaps one was the cause of the other, but both had the same root cause, and even the loyal fans in the stands were aware of it, however diligently they would distract themselves.

There could be no rest until Voldemort went back to being dead. Until then, it was better that the students knew what the school knew.


	14. Theft of Magical Materials

Hannah was in a state, but Hermione understood well enough.

She mulled things over while at breakfast.

_She knows everything she does is being watched. The wand she's holding used to be Millicent Bulstrode's, so of course it doesn't work for her. To make matters worse, she tried to get away from the attack without using defensive spells, in hopes the encounter would appear one-sided if anyone saw it, but Susan missed with a body-bind before being disarmed. That made both of them guilty of 'dueling' if anyone dared report it, so no one did. Not that anyone wants to deal with Umbridge in the first place._

"Hannah, we're not getting anywhere," she muttered as the other witch was going down the list of things she could have done differently.

"For one thing, I could have been going around in a disguise- we need something permanent like the Inspectors. Well, I also could have cast a shield charm if I could manage that one well enough. Do you think I should bring that one to the group next time we meet? It might go better if someone else presents.

"No, keep working on the enchantments. For the record, I had no problem with Terry showing us the summoning charm. I know it, yes, but only well enough to cast it in the best of circumstances and I'm no teacher."

"What do you mean? The runes were interesting."

"I'm glad you think so, but it would really be stupid of me to try to teach a whole class myself. I think all I can do, even if I use the whole year, is get some of the combative applications of runes across to the group." _I suppose not all is lost if I manage that. _

"Well, what do you mean about you not being a teacher?" Hannah pressed. The two of them got up and looked around for the target. Classes were going to start soon, and her friend would not perform well without a wand she earned, preferably her own. Yesterday had been a disaster in Charms, to say nothing of Transfiguration, but she might have been exaggerating.

"I'll explain later," Bulstrode was about thirty feet away. _Keep it simple, Hermione. The less variables, the better. _There was something of Anthony in the idea, but she pushed the discomfort aside. _"She's on her way to Defense._" Hannah nodded, having the same class later. Ron had informed her he had it with the Slytherins first thing, meaning she would be going up to the classroom near Umbridge's office.

The pair of them stared up at the landing where Hermione had left an invisible ward on her way down from Ravenclaw Tower. The prey walked straight into the trap, perfectly unaware up until her foot was caught, causing her to trip. _I suppose a sticking charm is not something anyone would expect. _Hannah nodded at her and they approached as the crowd went ahead of the victim. _They could have assumed she just tripped. Fortunately she seems to have contained herself._

"Having a bit of trouble there?" the blonde witch asked.

"You're going to get it back worse, you know." Millicent muttered back, not wasting words on the obvious. "Tracey-"

"She's visiting a professor," Hermione said. It had been easy enough to report her to Snape for stealing something, and have him call her up to hear her side of it, possibly thinking he had foiled her plans. _I don't really care what she says. Whatever it is, she could have said it any time- I only needed her out of the way._

Her thoughts were interrupted by Hannah disarming the Slytherin as she tried to draw without being noticed.

"_Expelliarmus_! Nice try for a bulky slag. You've all the subtlety of a basilisk," she said after whipping her head around to see if anyone was within earshot. _Most of the students and teachers are in class right now. We'll probably be a bit late. _The Hufflepuff caught the wand and cast a body-bind with the borrowed one before dropping it. "Let's see you get out of that."

"Hannah, Umbridge is going to catch us if we go too far," the Ravenclaw said as they set off for class at a bit of a run. They shared Potions, then Hannah had Divination if memory served, while she would go to Transfiguration, where she would meet Ron.

"I'm not going to push her off the stairs, Hermione."

"I would hope not," she managed. _She's probably still angry about having her wand taken, especially since- _"Be careful not to think you'll get away with it just because she and Tracey Davis did."

"We're going to have to do something about her," Hannah observed as they reached the dungeons. Not for the first time, she wondered if _Hogwarts: A History _contained anything about why everything had to be so far apart. She was under the general impression that the school used to be more populated, and not entirely because of recent circumstances.

"I suppose," she muttered back as they entered Snape's class. _If there's one thing I know not to do in this class, it's talk. _In the past year it had seemed the instructor had grown slightly more fair, the reasons for which she could only guess, but he continued to have unreasonable expectations. When no one raised a hand in response to a question, he would deride the class. When she raised a hand, he was like to dock a few points if it was the fifth time that day. _At least I don't have to have class with the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. Then I might really be the only one who could answer questions. _Between the two Houses, the former rarely bothered with the class out of disdain for the teacher, with Dean and the Weasley twins being notable exceptions, and the latter rarely needed to bother.

To no one's surprise, the dour wizard deducted ten points from each of them, though he did so without particular comment and it was therefore uncertain if he were deducting points for their lateness or because he generally did not like them. All the same, they earned a few glares from their respective classmates. _It looks like Ron is alone on not caring about House points._

In fairness, she decided that if the students were at each other's throats, the House points system provided possibly the only legal and definitive method of getting one over on each other. The Hufflepuff conspiracy, or the mad Hufflepuffs as Ron called them, seemed to use it as a method of 'intra-House unity', which in effect was a way of punishing dissent. The Prefects would reduce their own points whenever Hannah contradicted anyone, which she had since learned to stop trying to do, since it annoyed Susan. Ravenclaws were competitive enough, but they competed with each other too frequently to care more about competing with the other Houses, except on school matters. Gryffindors of the present were a strange case. While some were willing to work with the conspiracy, they were insistent on taking point in some manner, which the older Hufflepuffs had explicitly declared forbidden. Others were striking it out on their own, forming groups and looking out for threats. _Last year wasn't even this bad and I found it hard to believe we were in a school_.

_Well, once two teachers die we can say last year wasn't as bad- mathematically, at any rate._

Potions class was brewing something Snape had written on the board, though since it had not been explained to her, Hermione expected she would have only a nominal disadvantage compared to the other students, considering the descriptions of the potions he offered were rarely helpful. _Miss Granger, should you complete this solution with a fraction of the degree of competence required, I expect you will not die._

In fairness, the lethality of the potion was the matter in question.

Cutting mandrake root with the utmost care, she heard what might have been a swear from Hannah, but she could afford to pay it no mind. She had not arranged for Terry to cover for her absence and was debating on kicking herself over it or shrugging her shoulders in a matter-of-fact manner, since it would not have worked, though the latter option would have to wait until she was done with the silver knife, meaning there was still time to kick herself. At last managing a look over, it seemed her friend had managed to burn herself a bit, and whatever it was in her cauldron was almost certainly not what was required, though technically she had no idea what was required, at least not what the finished product would be. _If one thing's certain, what everyone else has in their cauldrons has nothing to do with whatever the hell is in Hannah's._

The cauldron did not explode, but the Hufflepuff's efforts did result in a particularly un-drinkable concoction. Having felt guilty over her last attempt to help her out of a potion-gone-wrong situation, Hermione used a water charm to dash the flame while the laughter masked the incantation.

Moments later they were out of the class and going their separate ways, and though the class let out early, it felt like it had been hours.

"That _bastard,_" Hannah swore. The Ravenclaw did not attempt to correct her behavior. _I've gotten used to it. I suppose I should not have hoped she would stay away from it forever. _

"You'll be alright. You do fine, most of the time."

"Potions isn't really my strong suit. It's interesting, but I can't do it, especially not with him. I just need to get through fifth year, then I'll be done with it."

"Take Ancient Runes," Hermione suggested as they walked. _It's a course that rewards creativity at a low level, unlike Potions. A student can't start brewing his or her own potions without understanding virtually everything there is to know about the subject. Even with a fairer teacher, she would do better in a class where she is asked do something other than following directions._

Defense was not quite unbearable, since the theory of magic involved was at least interesting. She suspected it grated on others more that they were not practicing defensive spells, but in the most positive possible light, the class took every second of class time that would have been devoted to that and focused it on the theory instead. _Of course, it would be entirely too generous to suggest this was all _her_ idea, but we have to be learning something to make the standards the Ministry sets, at least by fifth year._

To most students, fifth year was a long way off, but the brown-haired witch had it mostly worked out, provided the schedules did not materially change in the near future, which was possible. She would continue with all of her current classes, finding herself hoping that the trend would continue with Defense and the current teacher would either die or be recognized as being evil. Hermione and Padma were no longer on speaking terms, but she found out indirectly that the Supreme Undersecretary had gone so far as to use physical coercion to keep her from talking about the Death Eaters in a positive light, even outside of classes. Naive explanations not applicable, as Draco and his little gang got away with the same; she expected Umbridge had simply calculated that she needed to be nominally anti-Death Eater while being pro-Slytherin as possible, sacrificing a lone Ravenclaw.

Ron was less concerned.

"Are you entirely joking? It's _censorship. _If Draco's father made the rules about what to censor-"

"Half of Britain would fight him. Hermione, our enemies are killing each other. I say, let 'em at it."

"What will be left after they're done?" she asked, casting the muffling charm. Trelawney would not be terribly interested in their conversation, but she was none too interested in Trelawney's class. "This isn't a normal war where it just costs either side a heap of lives and capital and they both give up and go home. One of these sides is going to _actually win_ and then where are the rest of us going to be?"

"Cleaning up the ones who aren't dead, that's where," he objected as he pretended to take notes. _He might really be taking notes. His penmanship is not the best. _

"Okay, the problem with that is that there are going to be more than a few of us dead as well. The Ministry's entrenching itself to keep us from removing them once they're done with the Death Eaters, and they're not just going to go quietly without seeing me dead." _Well, they wouldn't kill me first. _"They'll kill anyone who could have removed them- anyone but Professor Dumbledore. They're not making themselves weaker by killing their own enemies." _They're losing wands, yes, but they're making themselves stronger relatively speaking._

"Well, if we go after one or the other, we'll only be knocking ourselves out. The other one will be just waiting for us to be weak enough. Reckon we're lucky it might actually never end."

Even as she started thinking up a counter to the argument, the impossibility of the problem as he envisioned it hit her like a train. A cycle of losing loved ones, Pyrrhic victories, and the absence of any expectation the equilibrium of conflict would ever be undone, any expectation anything would ever change played out before her. As long as Voldemort lived, there would be those who followed him and those who believed he had to die, _because as long as he lived there would be those who followed him._

"Miss Granger?"

The horror of the possible future was interrupted.

"Yes, Professor?"

"It does not do for me to recall the past. Miss Brown, please explain to your classmate my question."

"Absolutely, Professor. You asked her what the stars have foretold this week."

All eyes turned back to Hermione. A quick glance at Ron informed her he had neglected to do his as well. His expression showed a fair bit of sympathy, but absolutely no hope.

"I think the stars foretell... death, Professor," she answered, thinking back to her train of thought she had going before losing it. _If they tell of anything else, I'm dropping this class right now._

"But of course!" the teacher shouted, surprising everyone, possibly surprised herself. "The stars merely deceive us with their promises of rain, for this rain will be blood! So many of you will die..." She was crying. "...sorry, students, I must regain myself. We all die sometime, some of us sooner than others."

_She collected herself rather quickly, all things considered._

Thinking on the real possibility as the supposed Seer explained the reasoning of whatever future she envisioned, Hermione genuinely wondered if there were anything to be learned from Divination. Much of what she learned of the wizarding world from the books she read she had taken entirely for granted, though there were a handful of things that continued to not make as much sense as desired, leaving room for other possible explanations. She had believed that the field of study must have something to it, even if it described a world with a predetermined future, there just would not have been so much literature in support of the possibility of foresight. _Well, she's been predicting death for years. That's what Professor McGonagall said. _

A thought struck her. She decided to give the class another month, at the least.

Opening the book as Trelawney stopped raving about the coming doom, she decided to look over the introduction, which she usually skipped.

_Divination_

_One of the most confusing and multi-faceted understandings of magic in the world entire, Divination boasts over a hundred methods of fortune telling, each with its own theoretical explanation in propensity for accuracy and each its own legion of those who do not believe. Perhaps this is the wrong way to begin a resource, but I have proved others wrong in the past; as has happened, so will come to pass again. Let us begin._

_Birth, death, return to earth, and return to life are a central cycle in the turnings of the Wheel of Fortune, of nature and its vagaries. Discernible patterns have existed in the natural world in cycles that even the nonmagical can see, and with the aid of the Inner Eye, more are brought to light. The world, however, grows swiftly darker with no understanding of the complexities with which the patterns and cycles and equilibria unfold._

The lesson ended before she realized. _Well, it won't be the first time I got more out of a book than the instructor._

"Ron-" she started, not knowing where she was going.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not scared of them," he muttered back. "We're going to have to fight them anyway, even if it drags on forever. Dragging on forever is a damn sight better than letting either of them win."

"We can go after them in equal measure. They will probably end up doing the same, but..." _What am I saying? I don't even know where to start with this._

"Not a bad idea, Hermione. Took a look at a _Prophet _this morning while you were out with Hannah." She waited. "Staff have gone up three parts in ten over in Azkaban- only one reason they'd do that."

"Are you suggesting... they're expecting an invasion? Why? I know the Dementors are straying closer to the mainland, it comes up on the _weather report_, of all things, but why an invasion?"

"Some of the worst Death Eaters are locked up in there. Must be some reason he needs 'em. I reckon last year was more than enough to show us where his real target is."

Hermione was filled with a desire to read the newspaper.


	15. Escalation

Neville found her after their classes were over, having apparently gotten away from Ms. Jones. The pair of them were on the bridge connecting the courtyard with the grounds. _At least I thought she was a Ms. She might not be, I suppose, but she seems like one. I'll stop calling her that in my head if she tells me otherwise, unless I mishear of course. _She was fairly sure she misheard Professor Snape referring to Hufflepuffs as 'daft maggots' by way of a comment under his breath that did not escape the attention of Megan Jones.

"Hi, Hannah. I heard you lost your wand."

"I did, for a bit. Hermione helped me get it back." As she relayed the tale, she considered the unnerving feeling of everything seeming too easy, which she managed to allay a few hours ago. _Some things are easy and some things are hard. The fact that we managed to get my wand back without a problem only proves how effective Hermione is at planning things._

"Well, what are we going to do now that everyone's going to be using invisible wards now?" the wizard asked unexpectedly.

"Why would everyone start using wards just because we used them? I can't imagine Hermione was the first one to learn how to use them."

"No, she wasn't, but people didn't use them for some reason, not against other students. You didn't _read a book _to figure out how you were going to get back at someone- leave it to Hermione." He sighed, exasperated. "I'm not blaming her-"

"Yes, you are," Hannah interjected. "That's what blaming someone sounds like. How was she meant to do it? I am pretty sure I could have pushed Bulstrode off the stair if I jumped her at the right moment. Then I could find my wand at the bottom, which I'd need, since I'd have all the Slytherins out for-"

"That's exactly what I mean! If someone dies, the fight changes. It turns into a whole bloody war and all bets are off. Haven't you done the reading in History of Magic? For a thousand years the Satraps of Samarkand and the Slavic Sorcerers fought back and forth without anyone dying, and it's because they always had the hope that at some point, it would end!"

"It was a false hope! That war was inevitable, and so is this one! You won't take sides with it because it means parting with _Malfoy_!"

"It'll only mean parting with him if he doesn't come round! Do you have any idea what I've been doing in the last few months? He told me that he still blames himself for what happened to me!"

"HE _TOLD _you that, yes! I have no doubt! You're useful to him, so he keeps you around! Let me guess, he doesn't really believe that Hermione needs to die, but his hands are tied because of everyone else? Is it his father's fault? Is it their enemies? Is it yours? There are millions of possible ways he could be spinning this Neville, but none of them are true!" she shouted, watching him take out his damnable Remembrall again. "For that matter- do you have any idea what _I _did the while you were- oh, wait, maybe you did know, but then you just forgot!"

A cracking sound replaced an intense, rising feeling of dread. She instinctively jumped to avoid the shards of broken glass as the artefact hit the floor, but she landed in some of the pieces all the same.

"Well if you don't think I'll be needing it, you can keep it." She was gathering her bearings on the wood platform of the bridge. "Maybe you'll realize you've forgotten what it was like when we didn't have to kill our friends..." Neville was crying. He started to walk off, but not before Hannah had her wand out. "This isn't going to end unless someone takes things back down," she heard him say as he climbed up onto the railing, leaving little space between his head and the rafters of the bridge's cover.

"Neville, what are you doing?" she asked, eyes impossibly wide. She cut herself scrambling to get to her feet.

"Hannah, not five hours ago Draco Malfoy told me that at some point, you and your friends would have to die," he said wistfully, staring out over the gap as though he had no idea of the danger. "The thing is, I don't have to wonder what it would have been like if we could have been friends. We _were _friends. I remember that."

"Well, maybe you were, but if I tried to kill him, would you still want to be friends with me?"

"Did you try to kill him?"

"I didn't try not to kill him. I don't know if I could kill someone. It's not as easy as you think it would be when you're mad. Would you still want to be friends with him?"

The Longbottom heir seemed to appreciate the honesty in her answer.

"I want to be friends with the Silver I knew."

"Is that why you always referred to him by that name? Even when he wouldn't have cared if you stopped?"

"Maybe. I don't remember. I'm pretty useless if that is the reason, trying to trick myself or something. Of course, I'm pretty useless anyway." She moved closer as he spoke, unsure of what she meant to do. She could grab him, but a scene of his falling and her going down with him played out before her, as he outweighed her by a fair bit. "I mean, why shouldn't I jump? You'll know why I did it. Silver'll know why I did it."

_Draco wouldn't care._

"Why?! To get everyone to stop fighting?"

"That's the hope. It might not work, but we're not losing anything either way."

"I- we would be losing you," she contested. Hannah spoke with a bravery or perhaps a desperation that would not have come out under any other circumstances. "Please... we need you."

"I thought you didn't. I didn't know you lost your wand until I heard Bulstrode screaming about it to Umbridge after you got it back," he admitted quietly. "I only asked about it to see if you even trusted me enough to tell me."

"Neville, we do trust you. We just don't trust-" McGonagall's words rang through her head. _If you have concerns regarding her trustworthiness, be aware that Headmaster Dumbledore and I gave her a recommendation for the position. _"We don't trust Malfoy. We fought him. We know he was your friend, but he can't be now. This isn't about his being a blood purist or a Slytherin or even being a prat to Ron in first year- you could die. We could all die. We couldn't invite you to study with us because Malfoy-"

"What, he'd take advantage of how gullible I am? Look, if I'm no good to you, I'm no good to anyone. I know talking to him could get me killed, but I don't care. I'll fight him if he turns on me. I'll fight the Hufflepuffs if they go round the bend and just start attacking anyone who talks to a purist." He turned to look at her. "I'd fight you too, Hannah. It's going to be hard, but I'm going to have to do it- and you're going to need a Slytherin."

"Please, it's not a matter of it being hard, it's impossible. You're not maybe going to die, you're definitely going to die." The blonde witch realized she was crying. "He's not worth it, Neville. He's a cruel, manipulative, prat and he's no good to anyone," she concluded. _I'll have to try to levitate him or something. Maybe I can-_

To her surprise, he smiled.

"Right. I'm going to die one way or another and if someone's not worth it, we should let him die." He turned back to the wood in the distance, the blue-green of the lake. "The trouble is, Hannah, you have Silver and me mixed up. He can tell you about every star in the sky and he's reading books about astral sorcery for no reason other than that it interests him. He's always caught between two sides of a war, and he never loses sight of his part. He's got his flaws, but those can change. Me? I've made my fingers bleed taking notes and I can't seem to remember one of the books I read this summer. See you, I guess."

The speech sounded rehearsed, but the Hufflepuff witch could not have cared.

"_Protego!_" she shouted as he jumped. _If I hadn't my wand out, I wouldn't have been ready._

Unfortunately it seemed he would pass through the charm without so much as slowing down.

Hannah's ability to process what was going on in front of her might have impressed her, when placed in reference to her ability to respond to it. First, she managed to figure out that the shield charms she normally used were one way, so that spells could go out without other spells going in. Second, Neville was going to die from this height. Third, she failed.

It was then that her feet started moving forward, carrying her uselessly to the place where the black-haired wizard had only just been, her wide eyes staring out over the edge and down, down, down with Neville in the abyss as he fell, the same wistful expression on his face. For a moment she tried to think of things she could do.

She made a choking noise as he was seized and dragged back up by some invisible hand, and she whipped her head around looking for whoever cast the spell. For a moment nothing happened, then she heard something behind her.

"Good effort you made there, Miss Abbot."

"Hestia... thank you," she finished as she turned, seeing the older witch standing there, broom in one hand, confused rescue in the other. "Um... where were you?"

"If you're wondering why I didn't jump in earlier, then I suppose the jig is up, and a right tidy mess, we made." _Well, I wasn't blaming you... _"Your Headmaster told me to look out for your wee friend here whenever he was out of class. Didn't tell me he was a flight risk, figured that much on my own, I did."

"Neville, are you alright?" Hannah managed.

He said nothing.

"He didn't know I was here, that one. Figured he'd give it away if he knew, but at least I could step in if needed. Better a watchful eye than a firm hand, old mum always said."

In the moment, her mind threatening to catch fire from overwork, she realized the young wizard was probably feeling humiliated. He had intended to say all of that before dying, and his plans were literally whisked out from under his feet. Nothing would go as intended, and he was being treated like a child in the process.

_Well, exactly whose fault is that?_

"Best you run along now, girlie. Neville and I have some words to exchange, we do."

Hannah left without complaint, a dark expression on her face. It would take her a few days to get over it, she knew, but she had almost wasted effort in worrying about the Longbottom heir. _He's being treated like a child because he's acting like a child. He wasn't mature enough when he came to Hogwarts, he missed a whole year, and if everyone keeps taking care of him, he never will grow up. _What particularly annoyed her was the fact that something of what he had said of being useless was true- suicide was the very definition of selfish, childish behavior and she was having a hard time thinking up ways the group could count on him that did not involve his taking some time to grow up first.

She huffed, deciding she was being a bit mean, but there was nothing for it. She confirmed his thoughts about him and had absolutely no idea what to say about it if he started going on about being useless again. The appearance of Ms. Jones made her wonder why Dumbledore was taking such an interest in Neville, but the old wizard had to have his secrets. She was under the impression he had lived well over a hundred years, and if she had to guess she would say he accomplished this by drinking some of his friend Flamel's elixir, which had been keeping the old alchemist alive long enough. When she arrived in the magical world she assumed most people knew anti-aging spells, but it definitely couldn't be that they just had longer life spans, since they seemed to age at the same rate as everyone else.

Supper was quiet. Ron might have noticed something was the matter, but he did not ask. _Maybe he'd prefer to suffer his own problems in silence._

"Scabbers came back," he announced without preamble.

"Oh, he was missing?" The Gryffindor seemed none too surprised at the rat's reappearance.

"Yeah, I kind of got over having him around all the time. My brothers did, one by one, and I reckon that's why they passed him down."

There was a moment of silence.

"I hate to say it, but I guess you were right about Neville," Hannah said, looking down. Hermione stared back.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." _It's something you should know, but I can't. You'll hear about it, you'll be upset with me, but I can't get the words out._

Hermione's concern would not be allayed so easily, she knew, but she would hold off as long as she could.

"Terry, what were you saying to Ron earlier?"

"Well, after Divination we were talking about something from History, but we ended up tabling that."

"What was it?"she asked. Terry looked less than perfectly comfortable.

"It all started with Padma," Ron provided. "Turns out she and a couple of the others are trying to convince the rest of Terry's House that the Death Eaters aren't mad or evil." _There would probably be others at this point, whether she convinced them or someone from Slytherin did it. Then again, there might be some who researched the idea all on their own._

"Well, they were not discussing the Death Eaters so much as purism," Hermione explained. Hannah imagined she had been to a few of the conversations, however little she would have liked it. "I'm sure you're familiar, the belief that I can't be trusted and have to die."

No one said anything for a moment.

"I know what it is. Is that what they were saying?" the Hufflepuff witch asked.

"No," Terry started. "We were discussing the possibility of loss and destruction in the war against the nonmagical should the Statute of Secrecy fall. I was mostly arguing that this very sentence relies on a few assumptions. One, there's the probability Secrecy fails. I would place that at about nine tenths-"

"How do you _know_ that?" Ron objected. "It hasn't fallen in three hundred years, why not four? If we had some way of trying it a bunch of times and it went out the bloody window nine times for every ten we tried it-"

"We can't do that, that's the problem. So we have to come up with a theoretical probability-"

"Why? Why isn't it that you don't know?" Hannah found herself siding with Ron in the argument, though she had heard something from an older student on the subject of theoretical probabilities. Essentially, you acknowledged it was not a factual probability and you had to be ready to adjust it as new evidence presented itself. She was one of Hermione's friends, Cho.

"Let him finish," the other Ravenclaw intervened.

"Thank you. We can approximate the theoretical probability from other secrets that have escaped into the public, and there are quite a few of them. Do you remember what a fuss it is every time a muggle sees something? They wouldn't be making a fuss over it if they didn't realize how hard a secret is to contain, even when one other person knows. Anyway, the other probability to consider is the probability of war, conditional on being discovered. Then you consider the probability of losing, then being destroyed." He took a breath. "Even if one of these things is likely, all of them happening together aren't as likely. Obviously, there are unknowns, and that's why there's some disagreement about the threat the nonmagical pose."

Hannah extrapolated that the threat of the nonmagical was an integral part of the debate. If for some reason, therefore, the muggles did not present a threat to the existence of the wizarding world, the debate would have to conclude.

"Is there any way of proving they don't pose a threat?" Ron asked, seeming to guess the question on her mind. The Hufflepuff had a sudden thought that he might be a Legilimens, but she discarded it.

"I don't think there is," Hermione answered. "Of course, it's more complicated than all wizards against all muggles. That's where I come in."

The silence allowed her to figure out what her friend meant. _They think she's going to betray us- they might even think most of the kids with normal parents are going to betray us. _

_Am I supposed to betray us? _

_Would I?_

_I suppose not, since I've been referring to the magical world as 'us'. _Her mind returned to what Neville had intended as his last words as a soft, voluntary snort caused her to raise a hand to her face. _I hope that's enough for Malfoy._


	16. The Fall

Draco had heard what he needed to know about recent developments with Longbottom from Nott, whom he thanked. _My suspicions are confirmed. He's a lead straight to Dumbledore- a wind of fortune I never told him anything important._

Having failed to convince the other pure blood of the merits of blood purism, of how society would be better under the Death Eaters, he shifted to an argument of inevitability, since it left him looking neutral to it all, or at least the requisite deaths in achieving the end goal. Neville seemed to accept the explanation, though he continued to believe that he, Draco of the ancient House of Malfoy, could _do better_. It was an irksome notion, to be sure, but it was worth it. _If the old fool is protecting Neville, he must be important for some reason- well, that or entirely incapable of protecting himself. _He was aware the boy's unique situation had been caused by his Aunt Bellatrix, her husband and his brother, and for some reason the attack had been ordered by the Dark Lord himself, when it would usually be the executive decision of Rabastan, but ultimately it only gave the young wizard a sad life story, and did little to make him special. The war had left a fair few orphans, to the point where students at Hogwarts rarely discussed their families outside of Slytherin, because if your parents were not dead, you were making someone else feel sad.

Draco might have audibly scoffed, but class was not over yet and he preferred to appear to be focusing; it would not do to reveal his mind was occupied by more interesting thoughts.

The letter from his father came at night, as always. _Crabbe and Goyle are like to think that I get one every day._

The parchment lacked the usual address, indicating it was a secret message.

_Never has my disappointment been so perfect._

He might have dropped the letter, but Goyle was sitting in his bed reading a magazine of some sort, which seemed about his level. _If he can handle a magazine at a first-year reading level, I can handle a sternly worded letter from my lord father._

_Not only did you reveal to the world that we had a hostage in our home, and he escaped, only to kill himself on the tracks of the Hogwarts Express, your actions resulted in an investigation on the Manor and surrounding properties. Your Head of House is most displeased with you and promised me to personally ensure you do not forget your mistake. For future reference, informing me about the corpse and what you knew about it would have been the wiser thing to do._

An ineffable gratitude welled up at the thought of advice for future reference. _I had thought there would be no future._

_Do not think I do not know your reasoning for distracting the school with an investigation, concern yourself with the displeasure of the Dark Lord, who had intended to arrange future meetings at the Manor, and will instead be content to send a proxy to his second choice, the Selwyn Estate. I believe his proxy will be Amycus Carrow, intelligent enough to speak, but not quite enough to think for himself._

The aside was relevant enough to the letter, but it was breaking from the tone. _Is father trying to tell me something? Some way I can redeem myself- the Carrow girls. _His mind was working furiously, but he kept reading.

_Reveal nothing of what I have said to you, not even if you must curse the expressions off your face as you cursed the beard, rather than be bothered with shaving. I know of your attempts to have information out of the prisoner before leaving; disregard whatever he told you. He is a clever liar and your more recent performance casts doubt on your ability to sort out the truth of his utterings, if you managed to have any out of him. __But for my efforts, it is a wonder to think you were considered for induction by fifth year._

As always the letter was without further note, but the depth of his mire was beyond comprehension, and Draco had little left of his mind to puzzle out what his father meant or did not mean by leaving out the news he usually included in his letters.

_Father does not trust me._

The realization hit later than it should have, what with the wording and tone. He collapsed onto the bed, deciding that his henchmen were either not clever enough to discern his agony, or perhaps trustworthy enough to contain it between themselves. _I'll need to trust them... for this._

"Goyle, I require you and Crabbe for an important task."

"You might need Nott," the larger boy said after thinking about it a moment.

"No, there are things I could not ask him to do, not as a friend. He is researching necessary matters." _He's busier with schoolwork besides. _

Goyle disappeared a moment, returning with the other wizard. Staring momentarily, his fingers interwoven, he considered the young men before him. They had been faithful servants, more useful than any elf, and they had their own sort of pride. They seemed to rationalize their ambitions as vicarious, making his ambitions theirs, however the rest of Slytherin House chose to view them.

"We need to kidnap the Carrow sisters," he began without elaboration. "We have some time, but it must be before the next meeting of Death Eaters."

"My father said it was a month from now and he would know," Crabbe explained. _Thank you._

"Good work."

"We need them alive?" Goyle wondered.

"Of course, their blood is pure. At the moment, we need them as leverage on their father, Amycus. He will divulge everything he knows of the Dark Lord's plans to us or suffer the consequences." The henchman exchanged looks and he waited for one of them to speak.

"Would we really do it then?" Goyle asked at length. "If we can't kill them because they're pure, how are we going to threaten their dad?"

"There's more than one consequence he can suffer." _We can't threaten him directly. Lord Voldemort will know through the Mark if he dies, and if he has no fear of death he will fight us to the bitter end._

"We can get them both if we work together, or we can get them one at a time." Crabbe offered. _I'm tempted to say it'd be better to have one than none at all, but they're always together. It may actually be more likely to go unnoticed if we take both rather than just one._

"Okay, we can maybe knock them out a while, but how do we get them out of the castle?" Goyle asked.

"We'll have to go out on broomsticks." _I know nothing of portkeys. _"Gibbon said they captured Goldstein's father by putting him in a chest with an expanded interior, then charming it." _I know nothing of extension charms. _"We need some available trunks."

"Hufflepuff first-years'll never know what hit 'em," Goyle muttered, eliciting a grin from Crabbe.

"Avoid them; the older ones protect them." Draco advised with a disgusted sigh. Much to his chagrin, their whole thing about House unity was actually having a few of the intended effects, and by choosing not to steal from them, he would be making their approach look better. "When we have them in the chests, I can charm them to be light enough to put on my broomstick. Did I ever get a pair for you?"

The henchmen shook their heads after thinking about it.

"A lapse in forethought, no matter- there were a few good models after the battle last year, you may find them in a formerly empty broom closet on the sixth floor." Hogwarts had repurposed many of the broomsticks stolen off dead or fleeing Death Eaters, replacing some of the significantly older ones about which students had complained.

"What do we do once we're out of the castle and what do we do if it doesn't work?"

"It will work, Crabbe. If I were to fail at this juncture it would ruin me more than I had thought possible not half an hour ago. When out of the castle's wards, we may take the same route Evan took, though we may have to split up." A look of worry came over the other boy, for understandable reasons. _He doubts he can find his way to the Manor or Selwyn's estate without guidance. Fair enough, I suppose, there are times I doubt he can find his way out of an empty room. _"In that event, be aware that you need to fly north, not south, which is the direction they would expect you to go." He waved his wand and made strands of light appear, making a vague map of Scotland. _I'll tell them the ones I remember, no need to specify I forgot the rest. _"Find the old Bulstrode property on Fair Isle, it's the little one up here."

"What's it look like and how do I know where it is?"

"It'll be near the south lighthouse, a grand old grey castle tower. Goyle, you're going to the old naval base on the northern bit of the Outer Hebrides," he instructed, indicating a chain of islands. "Let's say we've repurposed it."

"I'll need my floo powder and I'll need to know when we're getting the witches in the trunks, and I'll need to know how," Crabbe decided. _Two 'and's, three clauses, and a deviation from the confidence you generally place in your own abilities- you've really grown, Victor._

"There is no need to be hasty. Better late than never, and failure is guaranteed if we are exposed. If any loyalists to the Dark Lord learn of this, we don't get in detention, we don't get expelled, we die, all three of us, and chances are they make our fathers kill us to prove their loyalty."

The reality of the situation seemed to catch up with Crabbe and Goyle.

"Um, Malfoy, do we _need _to do this?" Goyle asked at length. It was not a directly disloyal question, and Slytherins were not really meant for risking their own necks, so Draco allowed it.

"I understand that the risk is great, but consider the prize. When we have succeeded, induction as Death Eaters is nearly certain."

The plan was essentially finalized, though he of course had to account for the possibility the Carrows turned out to be more trouble than expected. Fighting an entirely different pair of witches, he had lost, but he had some idea the mudblood and Abbot were better at it than most witches their age. He had been a fool to underestimate the Granger girl, though he realized he underestimated her because he was under the impression her academic prowess was the product of being the teachers' favorite in most cases.

_We shall have to get them while they are alone, which should be possible. There are too many things that could go wrong with a plan that involves luring them somewhere, but we need to be out of public view._

He made a mental note to get Padma to see if they went to the washroom together. _After all the duels I've had in a toilet, I wager I may truly be the best at it._

Once they were defeated and placed in trunks, which could come shrunk if need be, he could shrink the trunks again, and discern whether or not the plan was working based on the amount of screaming. If they could not shrink the containers with the captives inside, it would make for a featherlight, but bulky ride on a broomstick, though he supposed there were worse things. _Fortune is a fickle mistress. Pucey shows me how to shrink chests, but not how to launch an investigation that does not incriminate my own family._

He was aware the danger that the true Dark Lord loyalists presented, but as their master proved, they were at least manipulable.

The following morning, he was sitting alone in the library, coming up with a plan to either lure the Carrow sisters to a location off the beaten path, or possibly catch them unawares in a place they went all on their own. He had pulled down a book on the nine planets and their symbolism to distract himself.

In an unexpected turn of events, he saw a Hufflepuff in front of him.

"Miss Abbot?" he asked without looking up. It was a politeness she deserved for none of her own merit, but he had to acknowledge her bloodline. As the records showed, she was the heiress apparent to the entire properties of the Abbot House, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. His defeat against her and the mudblood continued to sting, of course, though had he brought a more competent partner, things most likely would have been different. From what little he had managed to learn about Evan during his stay at the Manor, as Draco had been forbidden to ask him about most things, the young wizard apparently saw little combative value in anything apart from dark curses.

"Neville seems to believe you can be redeemed," she stated without preamble. "I haven't forgotten the way you helped me with the painting, but I also haven't forgotten the way you sided with the Heir." _What in Merlin's name does she see in Longbottom? Does he amuse her?  
_

"I am a wizard of word and principle, and you will find it is simple as that. The moral universe does not revolve around whether or not it benefits you."

"Well, not me specifically, but I would think benefit or suffering of innocent people would be factored, like Hermione-"

"We are realists, Miss Abbot. We shall not wait for the witch to betray us and prove her disloyalty when we already know of it."

"How do you know she's disloyal?" the blonde witch asked, a measure too loudly for a library overseen and heard by the vulpine senses of Madam Pince.

"It's simple arithmancy. Enough of those of her status will turn traitor that the rest of them will realize they have a better chance with the muggles than against them. I find it difficult to believe they would value the wizarding world higher than the one in which they were raised."

"Well, no, not after you try to kill them."

"A necessary measure, as stated, we must kill them before they can betray us all. We are not naive and we do not stand on ceremony when the obvious solution is directly in front of us, especially when nothing else will work."

Hannah's expression looked like she was suppressing a groan. He expected she was hearing more about purism, since she needed not ask about the eventual war at the fall of Secrecy. _It is almost as if she has something better to do than discuss the merits of purism.  
_

"Look, I've heard more about your dumb beliefs than you know." _That'll be Padma spreading it through Ravenclaw. I'll take her to London over Christmas holiday, it shouldn't be long now... _"What I need to know is what they mean to you. Would you kill Hermione if you could get away with it? Would you kill me?"

_No and no. Both of you are very much of magical blood and it would be a shame to spill it. When we have all of Ravenclaw, we shall have the school before long, and all of Britain will see the light. The lives of you and your muddly little friend will be of no consequence at all, but other things the same, we would prefer not to end them._

"Have either of you provided me a reason to kill you?" _I can adapt my strategy to a mostly peaceful takeover of the school. Force is necessary, in the end, but it will be the implied force of having the children of every Ministry employee hostage._ "Proper tradition holds that the outcome of a duel must be recognized, whether or not it is favorable." he explained, heading off a possible motivation in the way of desire for revenge.

"If I believed that, I still wouldn't trust you just because Neville does." _I wasn't under the impression he did. _He caught sight of the Carrow sisters looking on in apparent uncertainty from an alcove where they were studying together with Tracey and Bulstrode. _I suppose most would be surprised to see me talking to this particular witch. _The last of them was not watching, which was fortunate, since she would have most likely adopted an ugly sneer after the incident where the Hufflepuff apparently won her wand back. _Merlin knows her face doesn't need it.  
_

"That's acceptable. For the record, I don't trust you," he answered as she walked off, most likely unheard. _No matter._

Eventually curiosity got the better of one of the Carrow sisters, probably Flora, who came over to speak to him.

"Was that about the investigation?"

"There are those who do not pay so close attention to the _Prophet, _it would seem. She concerns herself with one Hestia Jones, trusted by the Headmaster and a self-proclaimed proponent of the self-titled Anti-Voldemort movement." Flora raised an eyebrow. "If you're interested, I would recommend taking your sister with you. Dumbledore may be an old fool, but he would never have left Longbottom with a bodyguard unable to shield him. She uses Mytle's washroom after dark, apparently."

The other eyebrow went up, but Draco paid it no mind. He had suffered for his folly, but that would be the last time. Redemption was only just around the corner, and he could swing something for Crabbe and Goyle as well.

_Father, you counted me out too soon._


	17. Interlude: Visitors

"Dolores-" the Minister called briefly, before remembering she had moved herself to Hogwarts on a permanent basis. _That's just what the opposition wants- my right hand witch out of the way._ He grumbled internally before facing the unexpected guest in his office. Ordinarily he could rely on the Supreme Undersecretary to get rid of them, since no one seemed to understand that if he spent all his time listening even only to domestic supplicants, he would either die or be out of office, whichever came first. "Excuse me, sir, what is your name?"

"My name is Singu Mahagiri. I am Weizza," a man wearing some sort of light green armor responded. He had a sword, a long thin thing, at his belt. _Sure as anything it's enchanted, then he'll have wards on his body- can't be blamed, I suppose, since there's a war on back home. Is weizza some sort of title? _

"And you are?" Cornelius asked, turning to a woman in a gold traditional dress and with a bamboo parasol. As it moved she revealed her neck was bound in gold rings. _I can't very well ask them how they got in my office- not that I'd mind throwing them out, but it's best to keep up appearances._

"I am Me Saya U Thuyaung." _Is that a name or a distinction? _"I am called Keinayi or Nat-Kadaw." The middle aged wizard's question simply repeated itself, still unanswered. "You will not forget my name, not as the fowl bones have foretold." Looking closely, he could see faint white tattoos on her fair face, and he guessed he would hardly be the first man to forget her name.

"Pleasure," the Minister responded judiciously. _Did they say anything about how to get into my office? _"I trust the reason for your visit relates to the Death Eater sighted in Yangon? We have sent a team directly to the site to investigate the disturbance."

"We are aware, as Kyanzittha has made clear to us on several occasions. We invited the Death Eaters to take our side because they have demonstrated discretion, what we received was entirely contrary." _At least he can speak the Queen's English- must've read up on the translation spells, that one._

"You may find them not subtle at all when outside of their own country," Cornelius ventured, trying to take the conversation in a new direction. _This will not end well if the Aurors have complicated things. I knew they are needed at Azkaban. I knew it, but the opposition would rather leave it to the dementors, as always. If their children needed a sitter they'd be asking about the rates._

"Perhaps so, perhaps the entire nature of Secrecy is tiring. There are nonmagical who know of the Jade Army." _That explains the armor. _"They do well to keep quiet, however. If they talk, we shall know who spoke first."

The woman with the parasol nodded.

"It is known. The Bo Bo Gyi will know."

_Does he know how you got into my office?_

Moments passed as the Minister contemplated the Burmese approach to enforcing the Statute, one that he expected might appear elsewhere. It had been an internationally binding agreement, though not every citizen of every land since the passage had supported it, even where the long-dead representative in the International Confederation of Wizards had voted in favor. There were those like Gellert Grindelwald who had thought it served to protect muggles from wizard rule, and that was only in Europe.

"Do you want the Death Eaters out of your country, having invited them and not fancying what appeared?"

"Their intentions were not as they represented." _Their intention was to cause a distraction and tie up the Auror Corps- Merlin only knows why, but we can't ignore it because we have to enforce Statute violations. _He considered the possibility they were desperate or woefully uninformed, or perhaps as a show of fairness gone wrong, they had sent a request to everyone with the wands to make a difference, and the Death Eaters were the only ones who responded. _It wouldn't be the first case of fairness gone wrong. _"They even sent a chest of gold to affirm their sincerity, only it disappeared moments after we allowed them to arrive and informed them of the situation," the man in armor continued. _Leprechaun gold, then- damn their cleverness._

Cornelius Fudge had met with several international representatives during his time as Minister, and though he could likely not boast half so many as Dumbledore, he knew better than most that magic and its wielders by various names and descriptions were not vastly stronger or weaker anywhere in the world, except as could be accounted for by the shifting Astronomical cycles he cared not to remember. The advantage a participant in an international duel had was the unexpected, the unfamiliar, though the same advantage applied to both parties. He once witnessed a killing curse pass through a Tibetan without harming him, only to discover that it was but an afterimage. The killing curse had achieved nearly global recognition and use not long after it was created, and it was a spell that seemed to apply under any and all circumstances, dark though it was. Most people forgot it was Turkish in origin.

What was surprising on the dueling scene, the only reliable entertainment in whatever backwater place he had to go this week, was that the best method for countering one's opponent was not something universally regarded as effective, but something as esoteric and unknown as possible.

"I'm afraid that might have been Leprechaun gold; strictly illegal in all dealings. Who gave it to you?" he asked with a moment of interest. _This might be the closest we've been to catching these delinquents yet. To think, we send an entire squadron over there on a word of mouth tip, when the culprit's name falls right into my lap. I knew the whole thing was going to be a waste._

"He said his name was Fudge." _I suppose you're good with names._

"Pity," he responded quickly. "I had hoped he would be foolish enough to use his real name." _No, not the same people who thought to use Leprechaun gold, what was I thinking?_

The visitors in his office looked back at one another. _Oh, no._

"That was what we were thinking as well." _At least now I know the reason they're here. They think I'm a puppet. Me!_ "Perhaps, though, our hopes are not so misplaced this time," the man said, hand on the hilt of his sword. _Damn thing's probably one of their dueling swords._

"I can assure you, I have no relatives who are Death Eaters. The Fudge family, small though it may be, has always opposed violence," he explained, shifting some papers around on his desk. "I believe I can account for the whereabouts of all of my family members-"

"Why have you not destroyed them?" the woman with the parasol asked. "As it has come to us, many harvests have passed and they continue to plague you."

"Well, you see, it's really not that simple. My predecessors had as much trouble dealing with these terrorists-"

"Predecessors?" _That's right- the Jade Army supports the old royal family, at least that was the last I heard._

"Yes, you see, the elected government has chosen me as its leader, but only very recently. Before me-"

"Many Death Eaters were tried and imprisoned."

"Yes, that was the war. After the war, see, they've been much quieter. I thought they might go away entirely, and it really seemed like they would. Unfortunately, we don't know who they all are, because they go about their business in enchanted masks."

"Have you consulted the local spirits?" the woman asked.

"I'm afraid we don't get the same kind of spirits in our neck of the woods. Our spirits are less of the helpful, informative stock you generally have-" _I have no idea what kind of spirits they're on about. _

"Perhaps we should look for them for you, then?" the swordsman asked.

"No, no, that's quite alright, we'll find them." _We can't have them... tearing the place up! Who knows what else they might find-_

Singu Mahagiri's eyes narrowed. _Oh, of course, of course, I'm helping them get away with it._

"If you would like, I can verify that I have in no way been covering for them." _Can't take credit for the Edict, that was Dolores's idea. _"We have an artefact called a Pensieve, see, and it allows other people to peruse your memories at will."

"You haven't used them to view the memories of the Death Eaters who have been caught?"

"Oh, no, dear me, we did, but they only told us what we already knew at the time. The other Death Eaters in those memories already confessed to their crimes, though they successfully claimed they did so under the Imperius Curse. We don't have any information suggesting the same people are Death Eaters again."

The look of suspicion on the face of the armored man only grew. _It doesn't matter what I say at this point; everything has been so suspect thus far that he'll never believe it. Their way of doing things is just so different- _All at once the matter seemed simpler. _This isn't my fault. None of this is my fault._

"Is Leprechaun gold legal to obtain here? Does your government allow cheating foreigners on deals?"

"We sent a team of Aurors to investigate the Dark Mark in the sky- the fool's gold was the least of our worries." _It's also the first I've heard of it. Leprechauns are magical creatures of near-human intelligence and we have departments for the regulation of their gold._ "For that matter, why didn't your law enforcement catch them? Conjuring a huge skull and snake in the sky isn't going to be missed by the mug- nonmagical."

"We have no standing government; our country is at war," Singu began, a bit of a growl forming. "I am here to restore order. I am in this office, talking to you, trying to get an answer about a threat that hasn't been eliminated fifty years on."

"Perhaps they are of no threat to some," the woman behind him, Me Saya something proposed. "Perhaps some find them of great aid."

"My office has taken numerous- measures against the Death Eaters. They are our matter to be addressed while they are in Britain, not while they are away, though we have no intention of allowing them to escape punishment." He cleared his throat. "Tell me, though, how can you complain about what they did in Burma when you invited them there? I have entreated this fancy that we are responsible for long enough-"

"Perhaps, then, the Ministry would prefer to recognize the Jade Army as the legitimate leadership of Burma, if we are to be responsible for enforcing the laws there?"

_It's half a world away. I'll also have time to find out how they got into my office._

"If the Jade Army would be so inclined to take the initiative in eliminating the Death Eater threat in Burma without any abridge to the Statute, this office and this government would be pleased to recognize it as the legitimate government." _This means the royal family will be back on the throne, at least. _In his experience, monarchs were usually much easier than elected officials, diplomatically. _They have the position for life, not until someone gets tired of them._

If the visitors took him at his word or disbelieved him again, they gave no sign as they promptly marched and sauntered out.

_Any abridge to Secrecy would be devastating for my chances in a vote of no confidence._

An employee came in with some useless length of parchment, placing it on his desk and making some offhand comment about the time his visitors had consumed.

_I must write a letter to Dumbledore._

Getting out a page from his desk as he scanned what was being put before him, not really reading it except to note that Dolores had stamped it, and the date was 1989. _Bit of a late bill; probably sent back for revisions. _He stamped it with a free hand and set to writing.

_Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_I have taken your displeasure about the Edict and its enforcement at Hogwarts into account. The purpose of this letter is to remind the magical community that no major breaches to the Statute of Secrecy can be afforded, especially after the incident with Rowle. I have heard your objections to our rigorous understanding of Secrecy to the tune of muggles dying by causes we might have prevented, and I am willing to amend the resolution preventing St Mungo's from taking non-magical patients with your guarantee that no risk of breaches will be tolerated, even as tensions heighten._

He let out a long breath. The resolution was proposed by Lucius Malfoy, and going against him was always difficult. He knew he could amend it in a slight way, creating a long list of circumstances under which a muggle could be admitted and receive care, but it was something he would notice. _Surely he can't complain about it if it's something that wouldn't risk a breach in any way._

Cornelius wished he had something on the former Death Eater, and he had though the case was closed with the whole incident about the corpse on the tracks, but apparently old Lucius had planned for his home to be searched, and the initial investigators found themselves wandering around in Savoy. When the lord of the Manor met with him in his office, he insisted there was nothing of interest to be found, and the investigators must have taken a wrong turn. _He's mocking me and he knows I know it. He knows my time is up if his master reappears. His master's the reason this letter is so bloody difficult to finish._

Dumbledore had to have some idea that he knew Voldemort was back, but was refusing to acknowledge it to contain the panic. _Fifty or so witnesses? I'm not stupid and he knows it- of course I investigated it, just to be sure, some of those children have parents who work a matter of yards away from me._

_The real problem is he keeps trying to get me to mention it in a letter._

It was doubtful that anyone would take it too seriously if he were to go around showing it to people, but the Minister knew better than to claim he had been imperiused. _The public can know that he's back; sooner or later it'll be out. They can't know that I covered it up. _He had it out of Dolores as far back as a year ago that Voldemort wanted people to know of his return, though he could not imagine why. _I always knew he was mad._

_If you can promise me to help contain the issue, the better to protect the magical world from the threat he poses- _Cornelius paused, looking around the room as if to find someone watching him. _-I shall do everything I can to prevent Lord Voldemort from returning to full power. _The words on the page looked like something out of a nightmare. There was no issue with his neat, professional script, no variation in the ink from every other letter he had penned in the last few months, and yet- _I shall imprison his followers in the high walls of Azkaban. I shall oppose his people in the Ministry. _He was almost forming tears as he wrote, imagining the difficulty and tribulation that stood before him, as if at the end of a long hallway, there was light shining from the surface, where he would rise from the dark of the prison to stand trial. He was tempted to hit the owl with a killing curse as he wrote a few closing remarks, delaying the inevitable.

As he judiciously handed the completed and sealed letter to the owl, he contemplated how he would pose things to the public, when eventually the return of Voldemort would be found out. It would be best if the Ministry, or rather, his office, released the information. _Always best to stay ahead of things- can't exactly wait until they're pounding at your door. _His mind went straight to his Burmese visitors and he shivered a bit before shaking his head. _I'm still not responsible for their problems. If they don't believe me, they don't believe me, but I can verify to the domestic public that I am not a Death Eater, woe to anyone who cannot say the same._

The pudgy wizard decided to take a trip to the Department of Mysteries to see if there were anything to be had on the Burmese. _It'll be five year old intel at the latest, and I can't expect a response if I ask what they're doing right now, but they know I'll cut their funding if they're lying. _The visitors were nearly his chief interest, after Voldemort and his followers, of course, as they seemed most likely to hurt his chances in the upcoming vote. _Can't wait to see what else they want to put on me. If they make enough ghosts in Burma that one might smell the ectoplasm from here it'll be curtains indeed. 'A vote for Fudge is a vote for sludge'- by Merlin! Even if I die I can't let them use that slogan._

Hogwarts, by contrast, was in good hands.

_Won't be seeing any junior Death Eaters come out of there, not a one after what Dolores has planned._


	18. Azkaban I

"A class trip?" Ron asked, finding himself in disbelief. "We're going to Azkaban?"

Hermione simply nodded in response. _Why isn't she upset about this?_

The pair of them were eating supper when she broke the news, having heard of it from Professor McGonagall.

"Well, how the hell is this supposed to help our education? We need to be learning... magic and stuff."

His friend sighed, looking around the Great Hall with a few turns of the head for the third time in the past twenty minutes.

"Are you expecting someone?"

"Terry said he had been practicing shielding, which I thought was a good idea. We were going to see if we could bounce a spell back and forth."

"Well, you're both bloody bonkers. I don't know how that old bitch is getting away with it." He spared a thought for the possibility of bouncing a spell back and forth. _I'm sure it would work, but I haven't an idea about a use for it._

"She's been on a pending investigation ever since they started looking into the corpse," Hermione explained. "Apparently, Malfoy Manor is under suspicion, being near enough."

"Damn, I don't know which of them I'd rather see in Azkaban."

"Well, if the whole school goes, then expect to see both. For the record, I think it's a good thing, ultimately."

"Why?"

"We'll all see the atrocious conditions in which the prisoners have to live is why." _Damn. She's off on one of her rants again. _"I only wish it could have taken place over the weekend, rather than interrupting class."

"Well, yeah, we're here to learn magic, not what happens if you break the law. I reckon no one in the whole school's missing the implication there."

The two of them got up, looking around a final time before setting off for the mysterious room.

"Umbridge sees Hogwarts as a political education camp, not really as a school. She's not an educator, so that fits. That's most of the reason the school governors want her gone, especially after Lockhart, who was actually quite good at leading them to believe we were learning something."

Ron snorted. He had not heard of the previous teacher's efforts, but would not put any of it past him. _Prob'ly figured he'd never really do anything, so he might as well be the first wizard to last longer than a year. _It had been a nightmare at the Ministry when it came out that the charming blonde wizard had been lying about everything. Arthur Weasley was not at all sad to be missing.

"D'you reckon they thought we were learning 'cause we got ahead of their tricks?"

Hermione declined to answer. They stopped for a moment as the stairs moved again.

"They figured we were learning because he was a well-respected wizard, Ron. He fooled everyone."

Being honest with himself, the late Defense teacher had fooled him as well, as little as he liked it. He had not read any of the required books, or at least if he had he could no longer remember them, and so he had no actual reason for thinking the man a fraud as long as he did; it just seemed like only a fraud would teach such useless classes.

"Well I hope we get a real one next year. Dumbledore..."

"Professor Dumbledore will have his hands just as full then as he does now." the Ravenclaw explained glumly. It was a quiet trip the rest of the way to the seventh floor, though Ron could have sworn he saw something on the way there, a flicker of light or perhaps movement, though he had no idea what had moved.

The door opened as always, and they found Terry trying to call his wand to his hand, though he had not quite mastered the trick.

"Oh, hello," he said as they entered. "Ron, I wanted to try showing everyone the stunning charm."

"Reckon that's a good idea. Anyone seen Hannah?" As he spoke, the Hufflepuff witch shifted past him, carrying a weighty looking book.

_Speak of the devil..._

"Hi," she said as she found a seat. "I was just in the library."

_If that girl spends another three days in there, Hermione's going to have to step it up to reclaim her title._

"What have you been researching?" the brunette witch asked.

"Well, it's the same book, but I've had to read other books to understand it. Basically, there's a healing enchantment."

"I thought they were usually charms?"

"Well, usually, yes, but it says that a wizard may enchant an area that whenever he steps in it, he will be cured of maladies, magical and mundane." She looked back to the book. "It's really complicated, though. I think for now I'll just master the application it has in slow wound healing."

_Guess you can't show us anything without someone being wounded._

"Have you tried it?" Terry asked, since no one else seemed to have the nerve.

"Neville sometimes has burns, but that usually gets him in detention with Snape. I think he's there now." The basic message was that she had tried it, but not much. "Sometimes I get someone in the library to help."

Hermione's demonstration was much shorter; she showed them all shield charms, which Ron handled well enough. Properly second-years were supposed to be able to do basic shields, but advanced shields were more challenging and generally more effective. _Reckon I'll need to learn them sooner or later.  
_

Ron's demonstration was shorter, but not for efficiency of presentation. The past summer while in magical Egypt, he had asked his father to show him memory charms. He had not quite gotten the hang of them at the present, since even the most basic form was a complex spell, and it was impossible to practice unless you really knew what you were doing, so he was in for some reading. _I really wish there were a bloody reading spell._

The more he thought of it, the more useful it seemed it would be, but that did not mean someone had invented one, and he would be damned if he did it himself. He had been called lazy, dishonest, and arrogant, mostly by Hermione, and mostly when it came to study habits, but he would not suffer inventing a spell so that he could read more books. That was her job, and there was no two ways about it.

Terry showed him a few shields, which seemed easy enough, at least in practice. His was blue and Ron cast a red one, which he guessed had to do with House colors, though it was of course more complicated than that. The way the Ravenclaw explained it, the colors were symbolic before they represented the Founders, and he would be none too surprised if shield colors occasionally crossed Houses, since the themes conveyed by blue and red and green and yellow were more varied and layered than anyone had cared to study. Since students largely belonged where the Sorting Hat placed them, however, many of the Gryffindors would have a distinct translucent ruby, many of the Slytherins would produce shields of translucent emerald, and so on.

The day they would leave for Azkaban was shortly after Christmas, which annoyed Hermione to no end, since that was the time new material would be covered. _Reckon she'd be annoyed no matter when we leave. 'least we'll be together, if nothing else._

He heard from Parvati in class the following morning that they would not have wands inside the prison, most likely to prevent Malfoy and the rest of them from trying to free their parents and their old friends. He had become more adamant about getting out of it after that, since the last thing he wanted was to be unarmed with the entire school around. The prisoners stood a chance of being nasty as well. The Indian witch, however, cast a smile in his direction and told him that if he really wanted to avoid being unarmed in Azkaban, he should get out of the country now, since getting out of the trip would mean being sentenced there, in all likelihood. It was not a place where petty criminals were sent, but it was a convenient place to dispose of political prisoners.

He told Scabbers he did not expect him to come, and the rat seemed grateful.

The students in class were grim about it, especially since Umbridge had taken all of class to explain the specific rules of the trip, though it was beyond him how they had the remotest precedent for doing a class trip, when he had never heard of one taking place at Hogwarts.

"It has happened before, just not in quite a period, and never to Azkaban," Hermione explained at lunch.

"Well why don't our parents have to agree to it?" he asked, already able to hear the livid response of Molly Weasley in his ear. "My parents are going to be furious- bloody hell, even Malfoy's parents aren't going to like it."

"My parents haven't any idea," she muttered back before giving a proper answer. "This is something Professor Dumbledore would never get away with, not even if he had proposed it well in advance. I assume the legal rationale is that your parents consented to this when they consented to the government and the Minister."

"We didn't have to consent to the Minister or the government he appointed. The Weasleys have been here s'long as dragonpox and maybe once in a blue moon we voted with the majority, but government's supposed to be _limited,_" he argued. "They can't just kidnap everyone's kids because they were elected."

"Can they execute suspects if they're dangerous people?" Hermione asked, probably remembering his position on the matter. _It's not the same._

"They can if they're resisting," he answered swiftly enough. "Then they're definitely dangerous."

Hermione scowled briefly, but ultimately allowed it. He decided not to bring up her proposal to kill Ebony in first year. _She wasn't herself._

"In any event, as many school governors are in favor of throwing Umbridge out as not, they're just distracted with the whole corpse on the tracks thing. They're investigating Malfoy Manor."

"Well, they're not going to find anything."

The Ravenclaw's eyes narrowed.

"I think you're prejudicially concluding that because you'd rather see them spend time on Umbridge."

"I'm concluding that because that slimy bastard gets away with everything. He can turn his whole damn house into a thimble while they're inside of it, and they wouldn't notice a thing." Lucius Malfoy had claimed to be under the Imperius, as his father had told him, and it had been a shame the defense was effectively perfect. Apparently, he had even submitted memories to 'an impartial third party' to verify his tale.

Hermione might have been trying to reassure him, that if they would not get the Supreme Undersecretary they would at least get the Malfoys, but this was supremely doubtful from the start. It would cost the patriarch a few galleons and likely time him up for a time, but it would not see him in Azkaban.

"Weren't the Death Eaters supposed to be planning something? I could have sworn they were trying to break their old friends out," he stated as they rose, putting his bag over his shoulder. As it was a day trip, they had not been asked to bring anything, but he would be damned if he went in there without a few potions at least. _I reckon they'll take 'em after they take the wands, but it'll be worth a go.  
_

"They still might be, but this should forestall it. A class trip of entire years of students at a time will afford more attention than they desire." Ron scrunched his brow, thinking about how the years had been scheduled to go visit the prison. _The first-years had even less warning about this than we did. Little buggers must be scared out of their minds._

He knew all of no one in the class, but could not imagine why the trip was warranted, especially since he understood the idea was not to educate so much as frighten the children, and first-years generally lacked the will to violate the rules. His case was an exception, not the rule, and he doubted that without all the ridiculous circumstances he would have had anything other than a perfectly normal year, if one soured by the return of Voldemort.

By the next day, the second-years would be gone, taking a portkey to the island, far in the North Sea.

Finishing classes that day was a trial in and of itself, having to listen to every other teacher disapprove of the excursion. Not that he disagreed, but it was just so insurmountably futile that he had been hoping to learn _something_, if for no other reason than to do well on his finals and keep his mother from exploding. He failed to understand why so much pressure was on him specifically, since the twins were not known for academic prowess, despite being, well, brilliant. Hermione, bizarrely, put all the pressure she could manage on herself, having neither siblings nor parents who understood the process.

"Say, what are you telling your parents?" he asked her in Divination, while they were asked to stare into crystal balls. If he saw anything, it was not anything helpful, like the potion he was going to need to brew in Snape's next surprise aptitude assessment. "Did you tell them about the Death Eaters- or that we've got one for a teacher?"

"Would he have saved everyone from the Heir-"

"He was a Death Eater, Hermione, I'm not making that-"

"Would he have saved everyone if he hadn't changed?"

Ron thought about it, pretending to take notes.

"A deep cover Death Eater would protect us from anything," he whispered back. "He wasn't the only one."

"Honestly think about it a moment. What if someone had killed him? What if, during the last time Voldemort was alive-"

"Hermione, the rest of them didn't turn over, it was just-"

All of a sudden the room around them was quiet enough to hear the spells being cast down the hall.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, I sense that there is something you wish to share with us," Trelawney predicted. Some of the class openly gasped.

"Our apologies, Professor," Hermione started back. "We were just... responding to something we saw in the future." As the teacher motioned for her to continue, since she surely must have discovered something important, Ron jumped in.

"We foresaw a fair bit of death. We reckon it's going to happen pretty soon too."

There was a pause.

"Yes..." Hermione continued. "It was so unexpected... no one ever foresees death, so we just had to talk about it-" the Seer interrupted them with an ear-piercing wail, which might have succeeded with the Ravenclaw, who immediately covered her ears.

"What is it Professor?" The question might have come from Lavender, but Ron decided it did not genuinely matter. _It's not like she hasn't hoodwinked any of the Ravenclaws._ Terry usually took notes, though whether that was out of interest or politeness, he could not say. _Reckon the Hufflepuffs are mad over her, more so than they were before. _

"I had thought Miss Granger lacked the calling, and yet, it is clear... she has the Gift." Hermione looked over at him with a glare that might have been meant to stifle his laughter, but that was not to be. At the moment, he was finding it hard to breathe from holding it in.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but if there's anyone who has the Gift, I am the least likely candidate."

"Oh, no, no-" the teacher objected, raising a hand. "It was all foretold, she who denies her nature as a Seer is more certain to be one." _Yep, she'll definitely appeal to the mad ones. _"You see with the Inner Eye so perfectly unclouded you are unaware when you look into the future, the visions come to your mind as any other thoughts."

"Professor, I really must object," she started back, casting another scowl at Ron for his expression. "I have read quite a lot of the text and the author is rather unambiguous-"

"Is he really?" Ron asked in a whisper. "Perhaps we'll have to find another." She kicked him under the table, but it was definitely worth it.

"-that the most likely people to be Seers are people with garish red hair and keep rats as pets, as well as those who prefer trapdoors to regular doors."

There was no discernible response to this, as the teacher had already moved on to explaining something entirely irrelevant as per a request from Dean. Apparently, there was going to be a full moon in a few days, and that always had some sort of meaning. _Really, it'd be easier to keep track of everything that doesn't have meaning. _

"Ah, yes, a boy your age from the other section asked much the same. It does not do for me to look into the past, perhaps one of you know?" She glanced around, offering the opportunity to answer to anyone who would take it. _Why the hell would Dean want to know in the first place? Don't tell me he believes this rubbish. _Trelawney's hand ended up on Hermione.

"Why are you calling on me Professor? I was not in that class."

"No, but as all classes have come, all classes will come again."

"It says as much on the schedule, yes," the Ravenclaw muttered.

"Who will return to have his question answered, Miss Granger?" the teacher asked.

"Macmillan, perhaps," she answered, though it seemed there was not the same reaction as there had been for the last one.

"If he makes it here alive, of course," Ron added. _That'll do it._


	19. Azkaban II

Hermione had prepared herself for the trip, but mostly by reading books.

Apparently Hannah had done the same, learning a bit more about enchantments. _She might have brought a coat. This island is freezing._

"Was this place always a prison?" the blonde witch asked her and Terry, staring at the dark spire from as much distance as could be managed. _That's right, she wouldn't know... _The landing area for the portkeys the school produced had been the graveyard, which she privately found disrespectful, but there was hardly a lot of space on the island, especially space they knew to be unoccupied.

"Not always," her friend answered. "It used to be a fortress for Ekrizdis and his heirs. He built it with dark magic, turning corpses into black stone." There was a kind of solemnity in the Ravenclaw wizard's words as he spoke, waiting for everyone to arrive. "He used to drag Muggle sailors to the shore, only to perform experiments on them. It's one of the explanations for the dementors."

"He only started experimenting here after concluding the rest of the world had nothing left to offer him in the way of magical research," Hermione explained. "He went to Rome, Egypt, and the Mountains of the Moon. Each new place he looked it seemed there was less to learn, especially in what he wanted."

"What happened to him?" the Hufflepuff asked, staring at the gliding wraiths around the cemetery.

"Same thing that happens to everyone else, I guess," Terry muttered back. "He died. Dark magic changes you over time; the less you know about what you're doing, the more likely you are to curse yourself. Supposedly, there was no dark work of magic he did not attempt, and all just to see if he could."

"Sounds mad," Ron muttered from up ahead, having just landed with the portkey in a group of Gryffindors of his year. He stood up quickly, which made sense, since she would guess he had used them before. _He might have been, but the books said nothing about it that I could separate from the author's opinion._

"He might have been mad," Terry conceded. "He might have been brilliant. Either way, he's been dead a good while." The four of them looked up at the tower, wondering if some enchantment had been placed on the graveyard to keep the dementors out. Inside, of course, they would be protected by a patronus, though that would only be possible as they went in small groups. _This is part of the reason we went as years instead of as a school. Had it been proposed to the prison staff that there would be so much as ten students in there at a time, they would have refused. _

"May I have your attention please?" Professor McGonagall asked, her voice amplified by some charm. Even in the shadow of Azkaban the word 'please' went back down in pitch, indicating the sentence was not truly a question. Many of the students ignored her, though they were not talking, which was enough. _We're all third-years... we don't have that many good, peaceful memories of Hogwarts. Most of us probably believe the school's leadership to be incompetent. _

"Silence," Professor Snape muttered to a handful of stragglers, mostly Slytherins.

"Thank you, Severus. As Professor Umbridge has no doubt informed you, we have agreed to march in groups of seven." _She's trying to protect us. _"Teachers will take turns going with seven impartially selected students. When I call your name, please follow the next instructor through the barrier. As Headmaster Dumbledore is at school with the rest of the students, I shall be responsible for your wands while you are inside, unless you would prefer to designate one of your friends. Tarry not too long."

Ron looked back at her without saying anything. She nodded back.

"Terry Boot, Blaise Zabini, Fay Dunbar, Su Li, Kevin Entwhistle, Wayne Hopkins, and Justin Finch-Fletchey"

The Ravenclaw wizard looked back at them with a forlorn smile before handing his wand to her and walking off. Hermione wanted to do something, to interfere somehow, but there was virtually nothing to be done. If the prisoners broke out or the Death Eaters invaded, her friend would almost certainly die.

She waited patiently for her turn, watching as some of the more worrisome students lined up in groups without her. Draco was with Ron, and she silently doubted the impartiality of the group selection, since whatever jury was involved was clearly trying to kill people. _When she said impartially, I assumed she meant randomly, though I suppose that might mean something else._

As it turned out, she would be grouped with Megan Jones, Theodore Nott, Lavender Brown, Daphne Greengrass, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Seamus Finnigan. _Brocklehurst is the only other Ravenclaw, and she keeps to herself- I don't know anyone else, though what I know about Nott and Seamus suggests they'll be trying to push each other off the stairs. _It appeared that Professor Sprout would be leading them, and she supposed there were no Herbology courses at this exact moment. _I doubt Umbridge thought about that though. As I understand it, the teachers came up with the selection and the idea of revolving the guides all on their own.  
_

"_Expecto Patronum._" A silver garden gnome jumped forth from the short wand and stared at the teacher, as if awaiting orders. "Follow us, please."

"Professor, why are you allowed to carry your wand?" Megan asked. "Don't tell me they let Snape in with his." Nott glowered from behind her, but she averted her eyes. _If no one sees that I noticed something, they're less like to notice it._

"Ordinarily only one visitor is permitted, Miss Jones," the squat witch started, leading them through an arch out of the graveyard. Hermione did not care for stepping on the dead, though some of the students were less concerned. "He or she may carry a wand- there would be no getting out alive if something went afoul." The path before them led about seventy yards, another arch waiting at the base of the tower. "Consider me that one visitor- you are my guests."

In her head she estimated that each group had been absent about thirty minutes, and they were taken back to school immediately after that, to put them as far away from the island and its inhabitants as possible. _As Professor Flitwick told me that, I expect that was also not Umbridge's idea._

"Professor, why did they allow us to go in groups of seven?"

"The prison wanted you in smaller," the Herbology teacher responded, somewhat curt. _Well, she's always efficient as I've heard. _"Professor Umbridge wanted larger, but Professor Hagrid said you would feel the presence of the dementors. She blinked twice and turned a palm up."

_Well, let no one say she does not have a good memory._

Hermione sighed internally, deciding that she already knew the Defense teacher, if she could be called that, wanted to scare the students away from committing crimes and the theoretically subsequent punishment, and to get a feel for the guards seemed a relevant part of the process, and she doubted any objection from Hagrid would have been taken seriously. He was a half-giant and a former prisoner, and there were those who did not want him to be a teacher in the first place. _As far as I know, Umbridge is one of them.  
_

The human guard, a wizard in red robes, required them to state their names before entry, and they did so, though Seamus went first of course. He did not command a patronus, though she suspected the dementors no longer bothered him, since he could easily produce one. Noticing she was shivering a little, he went ahead and applied a warming charm to Lavender. _That's kind of him. I think the last gate might have washed off any active charms or enchantments we had on ourselves. _She looked down at her own palm, where she had written a ward with ballpoint pen, the better to have it stick to her skin, exhaling a bit. She had hoped the trick would get past the security, but it hardly made her feel less naked without a wand._  
_

The silver garden gnome went in front of them as the group of students made it in to the main room. It was circular, of course, with torches of yellow flame floating in spiked sconces. As there were prisoners on the ground floor, she expected the warden's office, if there was one, was on top. A Ministry historian, a witch in robes of mostly black began the explanation.

"Welcome to Azkaban, the maximum security solution for maximum security issues. My name is Julie Castiga," she started, briefly glancing at the floor below. There was a layer of wards carved into the dark stone itself, pattern and meaning indecipherable. _You're standing on runes that no one at the Ministry wrote. _She was aware of all the warding that had been placed over the time the tower had been used as a prison, since some of it was in the books she had read, but much of it was from time immemorial. "Established as a prison in early 1718, Azkaban has shielded the world from some of the world's worst prisoners."

"-unless they were from elsewhere," Theodore Nott muttered, referencing Grindelwald rather unambiguously.

"The first wizard to be legally imprisoned in Azkaban was the dreadful Saturnalius Crowfeet, killer of three Muggle girls; prolific in dark magic. He was buried here not long after, around 1723 in the summer, though there was some few weeks between the time he died and between the time he was buried, so my fellow historians and I may never truly know."

"The reason it took so long to be buried is because you didn't know he was dead," Mandy Brocklehurst whispered, earning something of a sympathetic look from Theodore. Again, Hermione looked away.

"Didn't cause a problem for anyone until the dementors were no longer distracted," he whispered back, canceling her plans of keeping their interactions and possible common interest unnoticed. _Now I just need to keep Seamus from realizing he most likely hates them both. _Lavender was already scowling, so it was probably for naught.

"The average time served by an Azkaban inmate is around ten years, though the majority of them are not released. The prison boasts an escape rate of 0%, through the 276 years of operation. Wardens past and present attribute the success to the guards, dutiful servants, unerring in their tasks."

Megan gave an approving nod. _I can't stop this. They're going to fight- if not now, then when we get our wands back._

"Who has the longest sentence?"

"The longest sentence currently being served belongs to one Sirius Black, imprisoned for providing You-Know-Who with information about where to find the Potters in 1981. He was charged with two counts of murder, the use of dark magic, evasion, and terrorism. It is worthy of note that there were numerous considerations and aggravating circumstances for each charge."

"Wait, no one in here killed more than two people?" Megan asked. Lavender appeared equally curious.

"There are many accusations of murder against some of the alleged Death Eaters imprisoned that exceed the crimes of Sirius Black," the historian explained hesitantly. "His longer sentence is the consequence of the time available to investigate the crimes he committed."

"The rest of the Death Eaters were imprisoned without being investigated?" Theodore asked, though Hermione doubted he was surprised. _If they had enough evidence for an Azkaban offense, the trials mostly went quickly. The Wizengamot did not need to track down every crime Dolohov or Rookwood committed.  
_

"Wasn't the Lestrange family imprisoned at the end of the war?" Megan interrupted, not caring to hear the answer to the Slytherin's question. _If she had her way, they would go to prison without any investigation. _"Couldn't the investigators find anything more than the attack on the Longbottoms?" _Neville's parents? Other relatives? _"I would think that alone would be at least equivalent to Black's crimes-"

"That's correct, their crimes were equivalent, but it was the same crimes committed between three and they confessed to the whole thing, leading to little reason to investigate the crimes after imprisonment," the Ministry employee explained hesitantly. _Weren't the other groups giving her this much trouble?  
_

"Remember students, we are here to learn. We are not here to teach," Professor Sprout inserted efficiently, patting Theodore on the shoulder uncertainly, as if to indicate that someone had heard his question, though no one was going to respond to it.

They listened to the explanation about the construction of the tower as they went up the spiral path that functioned as a way to get to each of the cells. She expected the dementors were the only users, though they hardly touched the ground, explaining the relative absence of wear and tear. _The only time most of these people touch the path is to get to their cells, then never again._

A witch huddled in the back corner of her cell let out a long, low moan. Her dark hair reached the floor and nothing resembling clothes were visible.

"Who are you?" Lavender asked, apparently unable to look away from the cell. _Please don't say anything, please don't say anything- _The glorified tour guide ahead of them looked back, watching as the prisoner turned her head, opening milky white eyes. When it became clear she had nothing to say in response, Julie Castiga answered for her.

"Echo Tithona Western was taken here in 1899, as the sole survivor of an experiment in dark magic that cost many their lives, though the nature and causes remain mysterious to this day. The warding carved into her flesh keeps her from aging, but has robbed her of her sight and speech."

"Did she kill those people? Why was she taken here when she was unable to speak in her own defense?" Hermione asked, finding that she could not have stopped herself.

"There was enough evidence," Seamus responded for the historian, earning a look from the Herbology teacher, who had already told the group they were not there to teach.

"She volunteered her own memories, in short," Castiga explained. "They went far enough into the past that there is serious doubt she was the victim of a false memory charm, and the manner in which she provided them suggested she intended them as a confession." _I suppose that means she was guilty. _The Ravenclaw witch refrained from frowning, but Seamus pounced on it all the same.

"See, the trial was unnecessary, she did the crime. Leave the waggon in the kip, I say."

Within the cell the witch's blind eyes lingered. _Can she really not see at all?_

Hermione left it without objecting as the group moved on, going some ways without speaking. _I just have to survive this place. _

The next cell about which someone had a question contained a silent, rough looking man with long hair and a beard. He had somewhat darker skin, though his facial features were not standing out to her eyes.

"Who's this?" Daphne asked, out of interest rather than any sense of obligation.

"My name is James Amarok," the prisoner stated, more clearly than expected. "I serve a life sentence for murder because I am a werewolf."

"You were charged with murder because you committed it," the historian countered. "That man was not attacking you, nor did you have a legally compelling reason to kill him."

"I killed him because I am a werewolf. We have no control over our other sides."

Daphne continued to listen with interest, though it appeared Theodore had turned away, looking for Death Eaters, perhaps. The two Gryffindors and Megan appeared to be on the same page as Hermione, uncertain as to whether or not to have sympathy for the man in the cell. Mandy, by contrast, sided with the historian, though she might not have been glad for her help.

"And that is why we have to put all of you in here," the Ravenclaw decided. "You don't have a choice, fine, we won't give you one."

"Mandy, please, you're only making it worse for other werewolves," Hermione objected. "There are good ones and bad ones-"

"Do you think I am one of the bad ones?" Amarok asked, raising a hand. It seemed to quiet the objections forming on all sides.

"They didn't imprison you just because you're a werewolf," she answered at length. "They imprisoned you because, well, you couldn't deal with the hand you were dealt." she explained, borrowing an expression from Ron. "People who suffer from lycanthropy have been known to place themselves in chains during the full moon, and though that's unfair, that is... how it has to be." She sighed. "I'm sorry you had a life sentence. I would think that not being in control of your actions at the time would count as mitigating circumstances, but I guess they just thought if they ever let you out, you would do it again."

"We have good reasons to think werewolves kill people!" Mandy objected, gaining some degree of support.

"If you don't think they should be imprisoned, that's just as bad as killing their victims yourself!" Megan added, finding an unlikely ally as it appeared.

"That's enough, from all of you-" Professor Sprout appeared to be regaining control over the situation, but the historian disappearing on them hardly helped. _Let's hope she's getting the warden-  
_

"Please, we have to-" she started, vaguely hearing the werewolf telling her not to worry about him, as the cell was nowhere near as cold as Alaska or Greenland, while the others were glaring at her, forcing the teacher to draw on them.

"We don't have to listen to you," Mandy decided as the area suddenly darkened, beyond what was normal. Several hands pushed against her and she went over the edge, the only thought on her mind being Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, wondering who would have brought it.

In the air she screamed a few words in Elder Futhark, and she was illuminated in the dark, blue light of magic surrounding her as she fell.


	20. Azkaban III

The first thing she saw was Hermione running out of the the tower of black stone, being actively pursued by dementors.

"Ron! Ron, her wand, where is it?" she asked, panicking. A silver cat pounced through the air, racing out to meet the young witch, though Terry was still trying and failing to cast the charm on his own.

"I've got it. _Incendio!_" he shouted, trying to distract the wraiths, but the patronus arrived in time, allowing the tired Ravenclaw to get the rest of the way to the gate; to the others.

"I never thought I'd be helping you get in a graveyard," Ron related as Hermione threw her arms around him briefly, taking back her wand. The silver cat was chasing the dementors back to the prison, which served to explain why Professor McGonagall was not sternly questioning her about what happened. _After running from those things, I'd be happy to have her disciplining me._

The remainder of the student group was escorted out by the Hufflepuff Head of House, as well as the human contingent of Azkaban, wizards and witches in red robes, though everything was still so unclear. She wanted to bombard her friend with questions, but those could wait. What was important was that she was alive.

"Lucky Umbridge isn't here," Ron muttered. "She'd be interrogating you." Professors Sprout and McGonagall were trying to determine who had thrown the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and how exactly he or she had known it would get past the detection enchantments. _It's basically just a naturally occurring powder- it isn't charmed, enchanted, or cursed, nor is it a potion of any description. _Despite a perfectly apparent gratitude for not being questioned, Hermione gave them a quick summary of what had happened, talking out of the side of her mouth as she took out a ballpoint pen of all things and drew some runes on Hannah.

"What is this?" she asked quietly, at length.

"It's a ward. It's like a basic shield, but you can only use it once. Ink isn't the best for this sort of thing," the Ravenclaw girl explained hastily.

The interrogation produced little, as perhaps could have been expected, since it had been dark when someone forced her over the edge, though technically it had yet to be proven she had not simply fallen off. The Hufflepuff witch refrained from bringing it up as a possibility until Professor McGonagall announced it was her turn, along with Goyle, Neville, Michael Corner, Oliver Rivers, Dean Thomas, and Tracey Davis. They would be led through the prison by Professor McGonagall herself, as they formed the last group, and the rest of the students would be taken back by portkey, minimizing the amount of time they spent at the prison and away from school. Technically Ron was meant to have gone back already, but the task had fallen to Snape at the time, and he had a way of forgetting things that were inconvenient for him and the Gryffindor boy had blended with the other groups after his own returned, giving the Potions master an excuse to leave without him.

_He might have done that intentionally, if he were trying to wait for Hermione._

Going to the prison might have gone the same way as it had in the previous group, but there was no way to know for sure. She imagined her friend must have received some warning that she would be facing a near-death experience, as that was the sort of thing that always happened in books. Tossing around the idea, it seemed like a reasonable enough convention, since nothing really came out of nowhere, whether or not you would be made aware of it.

"We shall not have another incident that in any way resembles what happened last time. Is that clear?" Hannah nodded, though she could hardly see how she had been responsible for the incident. _I mean, what were we supposed to do about it?_

Listening to a disheveled looking Ministry employee who did not deign to provide her name run through some historical details about Azkaban, she decided it was possible they were not being blamed, but rather cautioned, if in a tone that made it difficult to make the distinction. _Hermione probably felt more comfortable without a wand than I am; she's usually more confidant about dangerous situations. _Glancing over at Neville, who had accompanied her in first year on a crusade to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone at all cost, she could feel herself refusing to help if asked, perhaps even telling a teacher. _I suppose they had good sense in not asking me, then.  
_

She was looking down as the historian was introducing them to a handful of prisoners. They came to a wizard who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed.

"This is Augustus Rookwood, a known Death Eater who confessed to conspiring to overthrow the Ministry of Magic," she said quickly, possibly trying to head off disagreement about whether or not he should be serving time. _Goyle's not smart enough to make an argument, but he's smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Tracey, on the other hand...  
_

"Was the Ministry listening to his peaceful appeals put before the Wizengamot before his eventual conjunction with the Dark Lord?" she asked. Hannah looked up at Professor McGonagall, silent for now. _It's true, then... He made appeals._

"Perhaps now you see, then," Rookwood said from behind the bars, his eyes flitting open. "Perhaps my time here has not been entirely wasted. We pose no threat to those of magical blood, children, and we prefer to waste as few lives as possible. It was only when our peaceable proposals went unheard-"

"Well, your proposals are evil," Michael Corner interrupted. The Death Eater seemed to tolerate it. _If you don't get many visitors, you let them talk when they want to. _"Don't think I haven't studied them, they're loaded with prejudice against people with different blood status."

"Salazar Slytherin wrote rather extensively on the subject. There are good reasons people with different blood statuses should be treated differently," Tracey shot back, probably unexpectedly. _He might have thought he was among friends. There are two Hufflepuffs in the group, I guess, but neither of us are good examples. _"If you read it and decided you don't agree with it, that would be worth discussing."

That the Transfiguration teacher had not intervened probably indicated a belief that this was a healthy discussion.

"Rivers, back me up here."

"I'm staying out of it. It's not been proven either way and I'm not risking my neck over half-truths," the other Ravenclaw answered, looking away. If Dean was interested, he said nothing, and Neville and Goyle looked happy enough to avoid being called to answer questions.

"Is everyone in this group either neutral or a blood purist?" Michael asked, annoyed. _Not really, no. _In the background, Rookwood could be heard encouraging 'Miss Davis' to practice Occlumency, the better to shield herself against dementors.

The group continued, looking perhaps for another cell. From what happened in Ron's and Hermione's visits to the cells, mostly arguments and scuffles breaking out, she supposed that whatever aim the class trip had in the way of political education had been a complete failure. If the Death Eaters who had been convicted of murder had been intended to be a safe option to scare the children away from disobedience, it had met with the unexpected obstacle of students saying the murders were justified, and the rest of them were criticizing the Ministry for not killing them on sight. _It's only going to get worse with the older students. I only hope they have the sense to stop it after us. Somehow I doubt they will.  
_

As the historian explained the crimes and punishments of other prisoners, evidently trying to put the best possible spin on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as well as Azkaban, Hannah quietly considered whether or not the Ministry generally had sense.

_How well could the best possible government respond to crime and enforce the law? Ideally the law would be fair, but that would only be the case in a fair society. I suppose the best way of going about it is to presume everyone innocent, and convict only when you can be reasonably certain, because when you convict the investigation stops. It's not entirely a choice of letting the wrong people get away or putting the wrong people away. Sometimes you do both, and letting a criminal go free does not lead to the false conviction of an innocent, at least not as easily as it works the other way around._

Her contemplation was interrupted by an argument outside another cell. Professor McGonagall looked exceedingly tired, and it appeared Neville and Goyle had been dragged into it. _They must be desperate. _More surprisingly, it appeared they were trying to drag her into it.

"Hannah, you've disagreed with the blood purists in the past-" Michael was saying.

"I've said that I'm not going to kill wizards because my mother's a muggle and I never knew my father-"

"_If _that's true, you saying it means it's true of _you_, not anyone else," Tracey objected. Goyle said nothing, but he nodded menacingly.

"This isn't the purpose of this tour-" the exhausted historian objected, nearly pleading with them. It did not escape Hannah's notice. In fairness to the Ministry, it seemed that whatever the public perception, the Minister himself and most of the employees were not blood purists.

"We know the purpose of the tour, it's to scare us into the direction of legal, _moderate _blood purism, throwing mudbloods in here, keeping the damn centaurs out of government-" Tracey continued in spite of verbal warnings. "-but if that worked, we wouldn't be where we are _now_. Law and order are not mere conveniences to be discarded for transient reasons, but from time to time, people must _die_."

Hannah mentally nodded quietly to herself. If Umbridge had intended to stifle arguments by scaring everyone into submission, that had failed as well. _It might have worked had we been more exposed to the dementors. I can still feel them, but it's faint._

"Ten points from Slytherin for language, Miss Davis. I expect the rest of your House will be disappointed for your airing of their grievances, bringing their plans into the open. The other party, by contrast, will be delighted to hear it out of you your intent to use violent means."

The young witch glowered at the old one, but would have been wise to acknowledge the misstep. Perhaps it was so that to take her agruement to its logical conclusion, the part about killing mudbloods had to be mentioned, but to do so was to acknowledge the violence inherent in the plan, allowing the Hufflepuff conspiracy to pretend to be lambs, at least in public. Had she represented blood purism in any way, rather than being a teenage witch in a prison on a class trip, the ideology might have been defeated in a stroke. _The average person would not like plans that involve intentionally killing people, especially large amounts of them. People like Hermione and myself probably make up quite a bit of their friends and neighbors, so the Death Eaters would have to basically have absolute power to enact their plans, or even state them.  
_

Against all odds, the tour through the prison continued, and Hannah silently speculated a reason the Deputy Headmistress would want to allow the students to 'air their grievances' as it were. _She's making us think about what we're proposing. She's making us justify it against the harshest critics. Some groups will not be balanced, like ours, but others will be balanced the other way.  
_

The next cell, and possibly the last one contained a thin man with a blank stare.

"Rodolphus Lestrange is serving one of the longest sentences out of anyone in Azkaban, having participated in the attack on the Longbottoms." The Hufflepuff's eyes widened, looking around sharply, seeing others were as well. _They're going to make Neville confront this monster- at his age? _She had heard his grandmother quietly tell her what exactly had happened to his parents, but never out of him. _He obviously hasn't gotten over it yet- why do they have to go this far?  
_

"What did he do?" Rivers asked.

"He tortured them... they're not well now," she said at length, when it seemed the Ministry employee was not going to spare him the discomfort. _She might not remember, I suppose. She would have been young._

Everyone in the group stared at Rodolphus, who stared back at them silently. It was confusing, the way some prisoners had been loud and some had been quiet, where she had imagined they would all be one way or the other.

"Why?" Neville asked, voice cracking.

There was no answer for a moment and for just as long Hannah considered the possibility the man was just sitting there, dead. She had heard of the Dementor's Kiss.

"Your parents were on the wrong side of the war," he started quietly. "When they defied the Dark Lord, they denied the truth. He would never have ordered your execution had they been loyal followers of his, and the same was true of the Potters." He stood and stared out the window, as though he would see something. "My wife does not see things the same way, but I admired the resilience of your father and mother, refusing to divulge your location to the bitter end."

Hannah silently wondered if the wizard had been preparing the speech, since he did not seem the type for flowery words, and he would have had enough time to think about it, but there it was. _I suppose it's possible his wife could be known for being mad without his being mad. He does seem to have devotion to Voldemort.  
_

"Why did you marry Bellatrix?" Tracey asked. "Is she mad?"

"Passion can easily be mistaken for madness, especially by the dispassionate." _Okay, well maybe he is mad. _"At the time, I wanted only the inheritance. Sirius and his brother won't be getting it, but it looks like Lord Malfoy was the cleverer suitor. We came to love after we wed, at least in our own way, at least in a way we understand after all the dark magic." He chuckled softly. "My parents would no longer recognize me. I was handsome, once, much like the Dark Lord."

If she were being truthful with herself she could see it, even with his thin frame, his dark, windswept hair framed a face of mystery, eyes revealing nothing at all. _And yet the pain he causes is all I can see when I look at Neville. _Her fists balled, but she was careful not to scratch the runes. _I can't be so hard on him. Reality is hard enough. He'll grow up._

The trip ended with Michael and Tracey at it again, Dean staying out of it out of disinterest, based on his expression. She had hardly heard him the entire time, as he did not speak except when asking questions, and it was hard to determine their purpose. It gave Professor McGonagall little enough reason to scold him.

They returned by portkey, landing in the Entrance Hall, cleared ahead of time. _At least I'm not the only one to land on my arse- _

Eating a late supper, her thoughts caught up with her as she realized she was sitting next to Ron and Cedric, a sixth-year.

"You know each other?" They exchanged looks.

"We've met," they said at the same time.

"What were you discussing?"

"You know how you said there weren't any decent Hufflepuffs?" the Gryffindor asked.

"I didn't mean you, Cedric," she said, shifting uncomfortably. "I mean, in general, the ones I know-" The older wizard laughed gently.

"No, I know. I've defended them for a while, but only because many of them were my friends," he explained. "It's hard to know when to draw the line with your friends."

"Tell me about it," the red-haired wizard sympathized, almost sarcastically. "Might be you've got the wrong friends. Might be they've got the wrong friends."

"The thing is, they're not going to choose," Cedric added. "Well, you can't count on them to choose. You have to choose."

Hannah thought about it seriously a moment, considering the possibility they were steering her into it, and that the whole thing was about Neville and his other friends. _Well, at least they're both decent guys.  
_

"Cedric, did you ever work with the conspiracy?" She allowed him to swallow the bite of apple he was eating.

"I tried to keep an eye on things. I don't know what I would have done had it gotten out of hand, and I think it really did a long time ago, but the short answer is that I thought the whole thing could be... modified to where it would be better," he managed. "I didn't like it. It's just that they were promising an end."

"An end?" the blonde witch asked. "An end to casting combative spells?"

"Don't you want an end to that, at some level?" he asked. The older student rubbed his temple before continuing. "Look, I don't know what all of their intentions are, but be aware of something," he advised. "Most groups don't do bad things out of some kind of shared character defect, or stupidity. Most of the time, they've got some kind of shared value, and they work toward it. Have you considered what Ebony's utopia looks like?"

It had been something of a blind spot of hers and she decided a blank stare would communicate that she had not.

"I have. I talked with her a few times two years ago. She wants a world where security and equality are the priorities, in that order."

Cedric took a last bite out of the apple before leaving, and in a few minutes the absence of a remnant core registered to her that he had eaten it with the rest of the fruit.


	21. Azkaban IV

"Draco-" Professor Snape's voice gained his attention in an effortlessly threatening way. "- once again you have proven yourself... insufferably lucky, but do not think you will escape punishment forever," he muttered as the pair of them went down to the dungeons. The Potions master had given him detention as a result of his behavior in the prison, which was unreasonable. Weasley had been intolerable, and he had been left with no choice but to explain why. _I would think the use of the word 'mudblood' in favor of an entirely inaccurate term would be preferable. _For some reason, however, he had been given a detention.

"Perhaps you should look into Weasley, sir, since he has perfected the art."

"Your father might have defeated him in argument at the age of three, but he would have known to keep a cooler head, rather than expose the plans."

"I did not expose the plans, sir, he knows about Azkaban," he protested as they entered the teacher's office.

"He knows as little as you, I suppose," the instructor muttered. "At the same time, the other students and the _Ministry employee _knew nothing until you confirmed that there were plans!" he bellowed suddenly, slamming his fist on the desk. "This is the precise reason your father trusts you with _nothing_! This is the precise reason he has left it to me to punish you," he explained, calming quickly.

The gravity of his actions and their consequences approached in his mind.

"I'm sorry, sir. Such a severe error-"

"See, you know how to apologize, but you don't know how to _be _sorry," Professor Snape interrupted. "I am not one of your father's... friends to impress with your ability to conceal and deceive, I am a dark wizard and a true Slytherin, he who only serves... himself," he droned, his hands resting on the desk before which the young wizard was sitting. He took stock of the potions in the room; it seemed the teacher had been making quite a number of them. _Does he bring me in here to yell at me specifically or just to yell?  
_

In the past few weeks, the Defense teacher had frustrated the Head of House to no end, criticizing the way he taught potions of all things. She started with the implicit danger in having the students brew potions that could be fatal if drunk at the wrong stage and did not seem to accept his reasoning that 'only absolute dunderheads drink their own potions before finishing', nor did she agree that the school would be better off without them, least of all after the blood traitor MacMillan broke out in sea blue hives. _At least she agrees with him about having favorites._

To add to Professor Snape's vexation, the only reasoning she cited against the 'unacceptable levels of danger' his classes presented was an appeal to authority, and political authority rather than academic authority. Umbridge offered a saccharine smile when he told her that she, being directly under the greatest political authority could win virtually any argument by appealing to that kind of authority. If the problem with winning all arguments by means of one's position was not lost on her, she did not show it.

"What do you intend to be my punishment, sir?" _It had better not be scrubbing cauldrons again. If someone below my station were to see me-_

"I have not thought of it. I have things to do of greater... consequence than assigning tasks to you."

Draco knew better than to ask what he had been doing, he knew the wizard across from him enjoyed his quietude. In truth his objection that Weasley had not been awarded a detention had more to it than spite; he was actually confused about it.

In the dark of the prison he appreciated the Astronomical symbolism of the geometric designs on the floor, though most of it was beyond his immediate grasp, and he would have wanted better lighting. The strangest thing was that around the edges there seemed to be canine teeth permanently embedded into the stone of the floor, magically preserved in the centuries of the tower's existence, and probably mostly unnoticed. As he went up the platform, mostly ignoring what was being explained, since it would all become immaterial soon, he found the spiral path made deliberate crescents, engraved into the floor in white, though that was only just visible as the light of the formless patronus passed over.

It was transparently Weasley who had started everything by questioning the imprisonment of a mudblood who had stolen wands from a wandmaker. _Blood traitors like himself would hardly realize the paramount importance of keeping our instruments out of the hands of the nonmagical. Having misunderstood their own parentage, mudbloods are likely to pass out wands to all their stupid little friends, since by the same logic any of them might turn out to be wizards as well. It was a fortunate thing we caught this one before such a transpiring.  
_

"I mean, do we need to put the thieves in maximum security? Won't this place fill up or something?"

"Azkaban has never once been completely filled," the Ministry employee explained. What she was saying was true, but the main reason it had never been filled was the small population of wizards in Britain, and then the dementors thinning out the inmates over time.

"More importantly, was it anything other than a demonstration of harmful prejudice?" a Hufflepuff named Leanne asked. _I shall remember her last name if she ever acquires one of note._

"Trials before the Wizengamot are motivated by nothing other than a shared desire for fairness," the historian, Castiga, continued. _I suppose it's not exactly true, the Wizengamot has made quite a few rulings in favor of the blood purists over the last few centuries, but there is no reason to let anyone know that._

"Then why was there such a harsh sentence for theft? Aren't there other places to put them? Aren't there other punishments than prison?" the Hufflepuff witch continued. "Why won't you admit the whole thing was just because she lacked magical parents?"

Weasley was laughing, and Professor Snape deducted five points from Gryffindor, though whether that was because laughing in Azkaban was against the rules or because he did not like the sound of it was not clear. Eventually one of the others whose name he had overlooked had the reason out of him.

"Well, it's just you've decided that you don't believe what she's saying 'cause she's prejudiced, so it doesn't really matter if she is or not, since if she says she isn't, that'll only mean she won't admit it." Though he kept silent, Draco was not at all loath to admit there was nothing wrong with the blood traitor's logic, only his sense of political strategy, since going against the mudbloods for any reason represented a loss on his side, whatever that side was. _The world will not care if you believe the same rules should apply to Death Eaters, mudbloods, vampires, and blood traitors like you- there is no respect for consistency whether for fairness or for logic, there is only power and fear. Discarding an advantage will not only go entirely unnoticed, but entirely not reciprocated by opposing sides._

The blood purists would imprison pure bloods who had not violated laws as an act of political war, but resisted killing them because it was generally unwise. _Aunt Bella is in here for torturing the Longbottoms, but even she knew better than to kill either one of them. Nott would never have let them stop screaming, not for ending their ancient line. _He thought of his own friend Neville as they passed her by; as she offered bizarre, unsolicited comments about each one of them, including Weasley. _Longbottom is incorrect if he believes he can straddle the fence for long. He has learned from me, and whatever he has told his pretended friends, once he has drunk from the font of truth there will be no way for him to return to ignorance, however he seems to crave it. He speaks of first year as though it happened only yesterday, though we are worlds beyond already.  
_

Draco stared silently up at the open sky, the circular hole in the roof of the tower that allowed the dementors to come and go as they pleased. Never did a single ray of sunlight come through, too thick were the layers of wards and enchantments designed to prevent breakouts except of the most insidious varieties.

In 1956, when on the steps of the reassembled Greenwich Castle the Lord Voldemort took the Ring of House Gaunt and was announced under his new title, joined by his commanders and their armies, there was a young witch named Eris who flew from the scene, reaching the Ministry to inform them of all that had taken place. She died only hours later, but her actions had come in time to deploy the Department of Mysteries to Azkaban, placing untold numbers of nameless, unknown wards and enchantments all over the prison. The blood purists and the Dark Lord's loyalists continued to investigate the case of Eris to the present, the mysterious circumstances surrounding her actions and their motivations still unexplained. His mother had some idea that it was a false name she employed in reference to a Greek myth, that she infiltrated the ceremony as an act of jealousy, having not been invited.

In any event, present circumstances confined him to a few possible responses to Weasley's continued incorrect assertions. He could continue to say nothing, but it would be something of a defeat for blood purism among Hogwarts students, when what he needed was to seize as much of the school as possible. Things were not going as well as expected in Ravenclaw, and his only remaining avenue after that were the Gryffindors who were dissatisfied with the Hufflepuffs, which was an incredible longshot.

What he decided to do was inform the blood traitor that the population presently residing in the prison was irrelevant, though the fool decided to respond by shouting it back to him. Draco remembered hoping that wherever he was, Rookwood could not hear them, since his disappointment would probably be palpable. He tried to make the best of the situation presented to him by informing the Ministry employee that Weasley had suddenly gone mad, but failed only for not introducing the idea soon enough.

In any event, his Head of House had the presence of mind to stun all of them and levitate them out, on the basis that they were 'making a scene'. Draco apologized for the confusion as a display of _noblesse oblige_, but it appeared his false apology was taken as a confession of guilt, another thing without which he might have escaped his entire present predicament.

In the end Professor Snape simply sent him out of the office, again stating that he had more important duties, which involved an update on the conflict in Burma. As irked as he was to be left out of it, he gained a sense of satisfaction in not being punished, though that was more likely due to his father rather than any cleverness of his own, making it a half-victory. Draco had been instructed to do his schoolwork while the opportunity presented itself, but he found another had as well.

_I have not written Evan in months. He is far from Hogwarts; far from his need of me or mine of him, yet it would not do to forget him.  
_

He composed the letter in his head on the way back to the dorm, the quicker to write it when he arrived. On the stairs it felt as though a painting were eying him too long, and he might have instructed the watcher to mind his or her own business, but he did not speak to oil on canvas, nor did he intend to make a habit of it.

_Honored Heir of Slytherin,_

_Honored Evan,_

_Dear Evan, _

Draco shook his head silently. Perhaps the simplest approach was the best.

_I have not heard from you since the Manor, though I imagine your life has been greatly interesting. I have developed something of a concern for you, perhaps that of an adoptive brother and I would be put at ease to hear that you have been well. As a person of interest, I suspect you are far from Britain and the familiar, and advise that you take advantage of the many resources that our Most Noble and Ancient House has to offer. There are books that serve to magically translate language, and they have been in use for centuries, though I am sure you have already procured one such resource. Instead, consider a book on Apparation, as it may make summer trips easier and less detectable to authorities, persistent though they may be. They have made it illegal for students younger than sixteen to learn in Britain, but I imagine more sensible countries have less restrictive rules.  
_

The last sentence was only partially incorrect. He had been to Nurmengard, in Austria, where underage magic was harshly restricted, and could not remember casting more than the light charm at night once or twice while being there. It left a bad taste in his mouth both presently and at the time, and he liked to think it was a taste of Azkaban, and that he would be better prepared for the eventual implementation of the plan, were he to be called.

Padma met him on a landing, throwing her arms around him, and he reciprocated reasonably. He listened momentarily as she went on about the limited success in Ravenclaw, meaning he had truly hit a wall in his expansion, likely one only alleviated if more of the students opposed to him went the way of Anthony Goldstein. They would only be the problem of some other country, but Britain was something of a battleground.

"How are you doing, Draco?"

"It could be a bit better." _The plans with Azkaban may fail. The very fabric of the magical world may collapse. I may die._

"How are you feeling?" she asked with her head against his chest. "It always seems like you've got so much weighing on you... I don't know how you do it, especially with Umbridge around." _The toad woman has been more of a boon than anything else. _"I heard they decided to investigate your home... and you're still standing tall here."

_I suppose it's reasonably impressive in context._

"I feel the same way I always feel, Padma. I am fueled with a deep determination to save our world from lies, from the constraints they place on magic. My heart burns against those who hide knowledge and truth. The world will know of the Dark Lord's return, when his plans for Azkaban are realized." _Amycus had damn well better tell the rest of us what his part is._

Their eyes met but momentarily before their lips, the young Slytherin taking delight in her initial resistance out of fear of breaking the rules, made even better by her eventual acquiescence, her feet lifting off the ground a touch.

At long last they separated.

"I have it out of Parvati that there might be Gryffindors sympathetic to blood purism," the Ravenclaw witch offered.

"Excellent news, then. I shall write the Dark Lord," he joked, exaggerating the consequence of her efforts. _At least there is a chance he would be less averse to risk than father or Professor Snape. _

"Draco, you're not really working for him, right?" she asked. He had noticed Padma generally kept up an academic diction around most people, but perhaps saw a more casual way of speaking as intimate. "I mean, were he or his loyalists to gain the majority of the Wizengamot, we might actually need to worry about our friends here. You know he never cared the way you do; he was never interested in a peaceful takeover." _Technically expending lives of his own minions is a cost he would rather not pay, but cost neutral deaths have never really been an issue.  
_

"The Lord Voldemort prefers a quiet takeover to any other kind, as he prefers to minimize the risk to his life. The Death Eaters work with him for want of other powerful allies, and if he is not a purist, he believes in the natural supremacy of wizards. We are not working for him, but with him on what common ground we Slytherins can find, and he will most likely leave the details of governance to us." _Though he understands how politics basically works, with its rules and trade offs, he is no politician himself, preferring a life of unrestrained magical research. He will teach a class at Hogwarts if all else fails._ "When we are in control of the school and the Ministry, our first priority will be the protection of the magical world from the mundane, but we shall strive for our goals with as few deaths as possible."

_Werewolves and vampires count for those already dead._

"I suppose that is the best it can get," the Indian witch decided. "Do you think we can make it back without getting caught?"

"It will be no trouble for me, love," he said, handing her some of Nott's darkness powder. _I'll lose points if they catch me, but I know where Professor Snape is this time of night. _"This may help in getting past sentries."

They said their goodbyes and he settled for a long hug, staring into space over her shoulder. In truth, he had no immediate need or desire to spill his secrets to a girl, and though he felt his blood pump as any other young man, he liked to think he had a greater sense of self control.

The truth was, at some point or another, he needed a wife and an heir. Until then, he would always be the sole scion of House Malfoy, and he would always be the one to be protected, never the protector. _Every good plan kills at least two phoenixes with one curse._


	22. Operation Oust

Zabini's story had been especially interesting this time, which demanded that he exchange it for one of his own, though he ended up having to use three. First he told him about the information he had from his father about the restoration of Secrecy following the death, which was left up to his department. They were unable to locate the wizard's next of kin or anything of that nature, and asking the Department of Magical Law Enforcement gained them little apart from a basic description. From Susan he had learned that what was being concealed was that the man had a Dark Mark on his arm. He did not know what it was, but the dark skinned wizard seemed to understand. Finally, he explained what happened with Neville, which Hermione had out of Hannah after a crying session, and this interested the Slytherin since it told him a little about a rival, Malfoy.

His story concerned the same blonde prat.

Basically, he was in deep for something, and it probably had to do with the investigation going on around the body. The only other bit of information Zabini possessed was that the investigation was almost certainly an attempt to distract the school governors from Umbridge, as they had planned to vote on removing her before having to look into more pressing matters. _This means Malfoy's trying to keep her in the school- and we can fight them both at once by getting her out._

With the fact-finding still going on, there was no serious chance the school governors would pay attention to cries to remove the Defense teacher from her post, and he understood that last week her powers had been expanded to keep her from being fired by the leadership of the school, where before they only could not fire her for inability to replace her. _Not like it changes anything. We still don't have anyone who'd do a better job._

Fred and George were the first people he asked about her removal. He found them in a corridor in the evening, joking with one of the other Quidditch players, who decided she had something to do as soon as he arrived.

"Ah, a thorn in one brother's side is a thorn in the other's," Fred mused.

"Especially when they sleep right next to each other."

"Too true, Fred, too true." _I really wish they'd stop switching names. It's getting old. _"Perhaps if we pull a thorn from the great lion's paw, he will reward us later?"

"Now, now, dear brother- there is no need to expect a reward when virtue and humor are their own."

"Speak only the day and the hour and we'll have her gone by lunch the next day."

"Right... the sooner the better," Ron explained. "I don't have a particular day in mind. Do it today, if at all possible." _She's annoying you as much as anyone. Don't pretend you wouldn't rather be rid of her._

"Ah, but if there is no finesse, no artistry to it all, what then, is the point? Tell us, dearest, would you like to try yet another of our creations?"

"If I do that, will you get rid of Umbridge?"

"We've half a mind to do that for free, though whether that's half a mind between us or half a mind each I can't say."

"I'm afraid I can't say when it might be, only that it might be a bit far from today, if at all possible."

Ron decided to take what they were saying as agreement, or at least the only kind of agreement jokesters like themselves would provide. He accepted what Fred handed him, and with that, the consequences of eating it. It appeared to be some kind of tan paste in a paper container. There was even a crisp for picking it up. _Reckon I have to give them credit for courtesy._

"What is this?" _It can't be worse than being cursed up and down._

"We call it the Hummus of Humiliation. Can't tell you what it does at this very moment."

"Right. Either you don't know, or it would ruin the surprise," he speculated as he looked back and forth between them. _It's definitely the second one._

Immediately upon eating the crisp, his clothes vanished.

"What the hell?!" he asked, indignant. _I've got to find a way out of here- a broom closet, maybe- unless the effects are permanent._

"Yes, it still has a bit of a salty aftertaste, I fear," Fred sympathized.

"We normally do sweets, but I'm afraid this trick isn't terribly sweet."

"It just wouldn't fit, you understand."

"Well yeah, I understand, you're a pair of corking nutters. You better be blowing that old bitch to smithereens or you can shove this- whatever you called it back up your arses where it came from!" _Come to think of it, I reckon if you put this shit in Umbridge's tea, she'd never teach again. At least there's nobody on this bloody corridor._

Fortunately, he still had his bag with him, meaning he still had the speed potion. It would help, some, as it would get him to the mysterious room, where he hoped he would find clothes that fit him. Knowing the twins, they would probably beat him to Gryffindor tower and make the experience even worse. Surprisingly Scabbers was struggling to get out of the bag.

"What do you want?" he asked, noticing Fred and George had walked off already, probably hatching their plans, which he hoped had little enough to do with him. The rat managed to get out of the bag, but wanted to be lower to the ground. "Sorry old mate, I forget how old you are sometimes."

He scurried across the stone corridor to a nearby storage closet, squeaking once there.

"Are there clothes in there?" he asked as he walked in, absent of a reason not to. He waited for a few minutes, looking through the contents of the small room in the probably vain hope he would find something. A squeaking came from the floor again and he saw that the rat was dragging a black robe, one a man would wear. _Well, it's not usually the only thing a man would wear, but it'll do. _"Thanks, Scabbers. Guess you're not so useless after all."

In the Weasley family, that was not only a compliment, but decidedly high praise and he had no doubt his pet would recognize it.

Walking up the stairs to the mysterious room, he kept thinking to himself it would almost be a waste if no one saw him but the paintings, but it would be weird if he ran into someone while wearing only a robe that was somewhat big on him. As was probably best, the first living person he saw(a passing ghost gave an interrogative look) was Hannah.

"Hi, Hannah," he said as he walked in, watching her eyebrows go up.

"Hi, Ron," she responded, thankfully ignoring whatever he was wearing as he went upstairs. He decided she had earned an explanation, if for no other reason than as a precaution.

"Make sure you don't take the Hummus of Humiliation if someone offers it to you," he called down. _They've probably already sold a few things of it. _

"It makes your clothes disappear?" she asked as he entered the boy's room.

"Yeah, lucky Scabbers found this robe." The sound of footsteps on the stair indicated that she was marching up to hear it from the other side of the door.

"This was your brothers, right? They made something that destroys your clothes?" she asked, her voice increasing in pitch. The Gryffindor decided to hope he could get the khaki trousers on before she opened the door in further frustration.

"I don't know if they're gone forever. Reckon they might turn up in my trunk."

"Ron, they can't _do _that!"

He might have told her not to get her knickers in a twist, but he was busy muttering the locking charm. _Might have been a bad idea, looking back on it._

"Look, it's called the Hummus of Humiliation. I figured something bad would happen. 'sides, I needed them to help get rid of Umbridge." Regrettably, it seemed the clothes available were a bit big on him, though they were muggle clothes, so perhaps that was the style. He had not thought the rule might apply to school or formal wear.

"It's that important? Do we have another Defense teacher?"

"We don't have one _now_," he evaded as he surfaced from the room, going downstairs as she followed, her crossed arms not touching the banister. _She'll get over it before Hermione. Well, it'll seem like she's over it first. _"Main reason she needs to go is 'cause Malfoy's trying to keep her here." He put on a mostly red tie in front of a mirror downstairs before going to the sitting room.

Hannah scowled before sitting down across from him. She was of course aware of all the nonsensical rules Umbridge was making, and that she was not a teacher in any sense of the word, but the way it seemed was that she was entirely too upset to agree to his motivation. In addition to that, she was also handing out unfair punishments to students who already had their wands warded, but it was possible Hannah knew nothing about that. _Doesn't have a pair of troublemakers for brothers. If I'm not wrong, she doesn't have brothers. Seems weirdly comfortable around blokes._

"Why?" she asked, grudgingly interested, most likely.

"I don't know. I reckon being here and warding everyone's wands is something the Death Eaters want. Maybe they owe it to her or something." _Well, she has Susan and Hermione.  
_

"Aren't the Slytherins getting warded too?" she asked, probably thinking of Bulstrode.

"Only 'cause of the mad Hufflepuffs," he answered truthfully. As far as he knew, the other teachers, even Snape, never used warding as a punishment, possibly as a way of demonstrating their unwillingness to acknowledge Umbridge. "Don't worry about Malfoy, though, he'll buy a new one, or he'll win one off a first-year. Might be both Snape and Umbridge are in the same room. Won't matter, both of them'll be looking the other way." _Just not at each other. At least she knows he used to be a Death Eater. Snape probably only hates her because he wants the job._

Contemplating the bit of wandlore Hermione had explained, it seemed kind of like bending the rules that the wand would favor a wizard who had won it, even if he got it off a first-year who did not know what to do with it. In truth, he would have tried to fight off someone two years ago, but he doubt he would have succeeded against a third year without some overwhelming advantage. _Reckon the only way it makes sense is that the wands were made to recognize who won, even if it wasn't really a fight. _In that event, first-years would have to fight just like everyone else, a cruel sort of fairness that one found in nature more commonly than in society.

Hannah set about doing homework, and he decided it was better to do the same, since his real clothes were not just going to reappear on him, apparently. Perhaps he would find them folded up on his bed, but he doubted it. The theory with potions suggested that they effected the user, not the user's clothes, meaning whatever effect the hummus had, it had on him. _Prob'ly some spell to reverse it in case they're about to get in trouble._

The following morning he found himself at breakfast, hoping no one would notice the muggle clothes under his robe. _As if anyone has any reason to give a damn about it. _He remembered his first class was Defense Against the Dark Arts. _Well, when some people don't have a reason, they make one up._

Seeing the teachers arrive to take their seats at the High Table, perhaps having been in an early meeting, he wondered what exactly they would be discussing. An uncertain looking elf appeared with a communal plate of food. _No wonder he's shifty around Umbridge. _In the past few weeks, Hermione had scanned the _Prophet _for information about 'what awful thing they're doing today', and usually it was about magical creatures. In the past their Defense teacher had supported such legislation, taking away what little legal rights werewolves had, as well as keeping the other sorts of things that could talk from having wands. Ron was decidedly less upset about that than his friend, who did not seem to accept an explanation of 'they have their stuff and we have ours'. Interestingly enough, the food the elf brought to the High Table appeared to have a Middle Eastern flare.

"Merlin, no, please, sweet-" he muttered pleadingly as he tried to extricate himself from the bench. _If bloody Snape eats any of that, he'll burn the whole place down- even Fred wouldn't find that funny, at least I don't think he would. _"Um- excuse me professors, I have to advise you that there's a faint chance that's been tampered with," he half-shouted.

The mix of different expressions ranged from curious(Dumbledore) to scandalized(Umbridge).

"What is the meaning of this? Did the elf-" Professor McGonagall started back, the first to speak. As he should have expected of adults, the rest seemed mature enough to not talk over her, though he reckoned he would be hearing from each of them soon enough.

"I don't know, not likely, all I know is Fred and George got to it at some point, 'least I think they did."

"Mr. Weasley, what are you wearing?" Dumbledore asked, oddly observant with the distraction that was being presented. There was a rule that he was supposed to be wearing the uniform with the cloak while in the Great Hall. Most students probably ignored the fact that he was wearing black robes, perhaps mistaking it for the back of a cloak. The muggle clothes beneath were even harder to notice, though they were formal enough that he did not feel naked. He even had a tie, though it was not a real Gryffindor one.

"Well, funny you should ask, Professor, see Fred and George invented this thing called the Hummus of Humiliation-"

Snape seemed to put it together instantly, rising and deducting points from Gryffindor, though Ron wondered whether or not this had been specifically written into the rules.

Oddly enough, however, nothing happened as Umbridge ate, refusing to listen to his warnings. Other teachers joined him in looking away.

"What was the intended effect?" Professor Flitwick asked, probably considering the possibility that he had misunderstood.

"Well, that's got me just as confused, sir, I could've sworn..." he trailed off as the teachers argued with each other momentarily, taking points from Gryffindor every so often, either for his brothers or for him, though Snape was generous enough to take points on the accounts of all three of them.

There was a noise coming from outside. Dumbledore raise a hand almost immediately.

"Dear friends, it appears the true purpose of Mr. Weasley's confusion and Winky the elf was to distract us. I suggest going outside as soon as possible."

"You may do whatever you like, _Headmaster Dumbledore,_" Umbridge articulated, indignant. "I for one shall have no further part in this foolishness. Expel the Weasley twins at once! Better yet-" Professor McGonagall raised a hand before she could suggest expelling Ron as well.

"We have, as of yet, no proof that the joke played on Mr. Weasley has anything to do with the sound coming from outside. He simply decided to warn us in advance of what might have been an embarrassing situation."

"Hear, hear!" Professor Flitwick squeaked. Unwilling to be slowed by conversation, Snape made his way to the exit. Ron had some idea the noise was coming from the grounds, meaning they would go out the door he used for going to Care of Magical Creatures rather than out through the Entrance Hall. A few of the teachers were following.

To everyone's surprise, the grounds were swarmed by dementors.

Panicked students ran, but the wraiths appeared to have anticipated it. They had formed a tightening circle around a seemingly indiscriminate group of students, who found themselves flailing to get out, most of their spells hitting each other.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Snape shouted, causing a formless burst of silver spellfire to leave his wand, charging outward to the black-cloaked monsters. Taken by surprise, they appeared to retreat, until the effects of the Potions master's spell were joined in the air by glowing animals, a bird, a cat, a horse, and a dog of some sort. Fighting to keep his wits about him, he called out for his friends, remembering the tutor was supposed to be watching Neville.

"Hermione!" he shouted, not seeing her anywhere._ Might be she's not out here- please, Merlin if I don't get anything else- _"Hannah!" he shouted, finding her surrounded by bullish wizards he recognized well enough. _Malfoy- _"_Stupefy!_"

The spell either missed or had no effect, but it was enough for his targets to notice him. As the dementors broke rank, some of them fleeing, he rushed in to find Crabbe and Goyle crouching down next to someone on the ground. _Neville... _Ron's thoughts halted as he approached, tempted sore to shout at the Slytherins to leave him alone, but Hannah seemed to tolerate their presence. Crabbe was waving his wand.

"We need to get him to the Hospital Wing!" Hannah was arguing.

"It's meant to be be full," Goyle started back. "We think this'll work."

"Hannah, what happened here?"

"I don't know. I really don't, but it's got to have to do with Azkaban. We need to warn someone."


	23. Highly Advanced Charms

Hermione made her way outside as the dementors were on their way out, put to flight by the silver spellfire of multiple Patronus charms, something she immediately resolved to dedicating herself to learning. _So many spells, so little time..._ She saw Neville being physically carried by Ron and Goyle of all people, shouting orders at each other, but cooperating all the same. The Ravenclaw wondered what kind of nightmare she could be dreaming and called for Terry, who had followed her out of class.

"Hermione, we need to get out of the way. We can't do anything and everyone here needs to get inside the school."

"But- okay, please, just help Ron get Neville back in." _We can't leave them with Malfoy's lackeys. _For her own part, she found Hannah, who was crying as she followed behind the others. Neville appeared to be unconscious, but mostly unhurt. _Dementors leave their victims unconscious to prey on their minds more easily without killing them. There's nothing fundamentally different about the Dementor's Kiss, it's just the creature eating everything it can find. I've read that they use it for unofficial executions, since regular executions are rarely done._

"Hannah, are you alright?"

"Hermione, don't you know a charm for moving unconscious people?"

"Well, yes, I do, but it seems like Neville is only unconscious, not injured. I believe Ron and Terry can take care of him." _Meanwhile, there are other matters for which they would not be well suited._

Even as she got the Hufflepuff witch inside, it seemed she was on the verge of tears.

"Why would you think I'm not alright... can we go back to worrying about Neville?" she asked, not convincing anyone. They walked to a quieter corridor, at relatively low risk of being overheard by other students, especially the ones that were shaken. They were talking loudly, as if they could drown out the screams from their memories.

"Hannah, I'm not... well, I'm not a great deal better at this than our other friends, but I can listen really well."

"Can you listen as well as you can read?" her friend asked, offering a sad smile.

Ron's brothers found them, looking almost as panicked as the rest of the students. Hermione had of course read about the effects the dementors had on people, but these young men were not shaken from a past event, they were scared for the future.

"Hey, you're Ron's ladyfriend or something, right? Where is he?" one of them asked. She had no idea what his name was, only that he was the one somewhat more likely to say what was actually on his mind rather than patronizing people with niceties. The Ravenclaw supposed they might be making a parody of high society in the wizarding world, but it was better than outright rudeness.

"I for one have no-"

"He's going to the Hospital Wing with Neville. We think he was badly effected. When I got there, Ron had gotten Crabbe and Goyle to help him move the other unconscious students off of him. I think he wasn't lying about being valuable to Malfoy," Hannah answered, blurting it all out. Hermione, of course, was interested in these developments, but the twins could not have cared less.

"Did he say anything to you about, say, Hummus?" the other brother asked.

"No."

"Yes. I think that's a really mean-"

"Bollocks."

"Bollocks indeed, brother. Off to the Hospital Wing, it seems." They started off and Hannah gave her a look, indicating she had intended to go that way in any event. They followed at a reasonable pace, since it would do no good at all if they ran and contributed to the overall sense of panic.

"Why do you need to see Ron?" Hermione asked as they walked, her curiosity winning out. They moved at an unpleasant pace, stopping and starting to accommodate passing students.

"Well, we planned an elaborate way of getting rid of Umbridge." _Well, that's not always the best idea. I understand the sentiment well enough. _

"He was going to lead them in a long distraction, thinking they were in danger of a little embarrassment."

"A little?" the Hufflepuff asked loudly.

"Relative terms, you see; there was a bigger embarrassment waiting outside. In light of recent events, we'd thought to make something of a Dark Mark, only naughtier, and involving the old wart."

"What a time we might have had."

Hermione did not particularly care to hear the details of the plan or how it would have rid the school of the Supreme Undersecretary, for which she would have been thankful enough.

"Things didn't go as planned, then? You brought the dementors here?"

"In our defense, they were in the area," one of them said, earning an almost reflexive smack from the other.

"We would never intentionally do such a thing," he stated, an unusual tone present in his voice. "They must have responded to all the magical people in the school and found us somehow. We thought the wards kept them out." _Evidently not. I would think it difficult to bar entry to specific magical beings, else we might not have had the troll incident.  
_

"And now your concern is getting the story straight with Ron?" Hannah asked, annoyed. "You're absolutely unbelievable."

They arrived at the Hospital Wing, but the brothers paused before going inside.

"Look, when he asks us for help with something, we'll usually come through, even if it's something difficult, even if we try to make it more entertaining."

"We're family," the other one continued. "He knows we wouldn't _bring dementors here. _Dementors are the worst things in the world, they quite literally suck the fun out of everything. I'm already kicking myself for never learning the Patronus."

The young witches said nothing as they went in. It appeared Terry had left Neville, probably to help with the others, and Crabbe and Goyle were more likely gone because their part of the job was done. _Well, maybe there are other Slytherins that they're supposed to drag out of there. _Looking around, it appeared the Hospital Wing was going to fill up in minutes, and she hoped the resident Healer would have the good sense to treat the people with the most exposure first.

The twins were talking with Ron, and the short version was that he needed to tell the teachers that the entirety of the prank was the distraction, and they had nothing to do with what went on outside.

"I mean, I can't see how that would work. I nearly got expelled for telling them about the Hummus." He seemed to think about it a moment. "If you're going to get expelled, why not take Umbridge down with you?"

"We can't abandon staying here yet. Don't say anything right away, if we're really lucky they'll forget about us while they're dealing with the dementors and how they got here."

"All right. We need her gone, Fred." _Oh, so that one's Fred._

"Not to worry, dear brother, gone she will be," George assured. "You'll forget she was ever here."

"I don't think everyone will," Hannah muttered. Hermione turned her head. It was possible the other girl had heard of some of the worse punishments that had been implemented. Apparently a few of the Gryffindors still had scars. For her own part, she had looked into the legislative record of the Supreme Undersecretary and had been particularly unimpressed with the thinking that went into her policies. As the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office, she had made certain to curtail all attempts at allowing centaurs to obtain wands, which seemed wrong.

When she had come to the magical world, something that challenged her was the amount of creatures that possessed extraordinary intelligence. The books she read seemed to represent them as being perfectly content with their state of affairs, though it seemed the truth was more complicated. The goblins, for example, had worked metal for several thousand years at least, and had acted as bankers for the wizarding world at least the last three hundred. There was never a period in which they held wands, and it was possible that by not being wizards, they could not use them, but at no point was any experiment done to determine that. It was possible that, like elves and apparently centaurs, they were capable of their own sort of magic that did not require the use of wands, distinct from fixed magical abilities that vampires and basilisks possessed.

She wanted a perfect solution to it all, and perhaps that was just letting them all have wands and seeing if they liked it, but it was infinitely complex either way. If one thing was certain, laws and rulings motivated by naked prejudice were not going to help them.

It seemed she was not going to have the discussion she wanted with Hannah, but ultimately that was fine. Hermione thought Neville was a nice enough boy, but in first year he was only a marginally competent wizard and did not seem to have improved much since then. Hanging out with him would only put him at risk, and as Ron believed it would put the group at risk. The two of them were getting to an age where they should really stop obsessing over the cute and helpless, and he was getting to an age and lived in a learning environment where either trait was likely to kill him.

She shook her head as she walked out of the room, looking for someone who could explain the presence of the dementors, hopefully Professor Dumbledore, if he were available. Neville was not totally helpless, but he was below average and that was usually enough. At the same time, she recognized the oddity of Ron and Goyle of all people carrying him inside. _I would think Draco still needs him for something. As for Ron... well, Neville can't risk anything important while he's unconscious.  
_

The Headmaster was surrounded; witches and wizards in red robes were on all sides of him.

"You can't expect us to believe that a pair of students brought dementors to Hogwarts," one of them said, his wand out.

"I implore you, the students are good-hearted boys who would never do such a thing intentionally, yet they have proven themselves sufficiently capable of attracting them from a short distance, if accidentally. The matter must be investigated with caution, as much as with understanding for the larger picture." There was nothing in the old wizard's speech that indicated he was anything other than perfectly sincere. "Why are _dementors _of all creatures here? Where are the dementors _not_?" It appeared his appeals were falling on deaf ears, but these wizards were probably not normally required to sort out valid arguments from excuses. "For years I have hoped I could convince my enemies that the sole reason I left the school to its own defense was for the incompetence and bad faith of other measures of security... and yet it appears my hope was misplaced."

"What do you mean, Professor?" Hermione asked, hoping to distract the red-robed witches and wizards a moment. "For the record, the... two students involved could not... produce the Patronus Charm," she added, voice shaking.

As if demonstrating a rare desire to be useful, Professor Umbridge appeared at the end of the corridor, causing more than enough of a distraction.

"There you are!" Whether she meant the unknown wizards or the one they surrounded Hermione could only guess. "The two students who caused this... catastrophe must not escape punishment! Summon their Head of House immediately."

"Dolores, the Weasley twins are hardly the matter of greatest concern at the present," Professor Dumbledore responded, tone effortlessly respectful. "Consider the timing with the increase in staff at Azkaban, the distraction in Burma meant to look like the Jade Army just might have created it themselves... I fear the prison is short of its regular guard and the Aurors that usually monitor for threats the dementors cannot detect."

"The only distraction is what you're doing!" a red-robed wizard shouted. "You made yourself responsible for this school and look what happened."

"Stop... please..." Hermione pleaded, not knowing where she was directing her general feeling of despair. _If they take Dumbledore away..._

There was a twinkle in his aged blue eyes, and it reminded her oddly of the expression he might make when coming up with a joke, or perhaps having heard one.

"Help is always at Hogwarts for those who ask it," he said simply as he waved his wand, moving past the guards like a cloud of gas. A blue shield blocked the spells they hesitantly cast after him, doing nothing to slow him down as he made his way to the entrance and out of it.

"He's leaving, don't bother. It's really a matter for the Hit Wizards," one of them said. "The Auror Corps was only called in the event he resisted violently."

"We can't just let him go, what happens when they corner him?" another disagreed.

"WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LEAVE AZKABAN UNGUARDED?!" Everyone turned to look at Hermione. "Haven't any of you been paying attention?! Voldemort has tried to take the school every year, it was only a matter of time before he realized Professor Dumbledore refused your help because you never meant to help us and because he had to make Hogwarts look like it was the easiest target on the map!" _He can only protect one place at a time, even if he could apparate between them. There are too many targets- the Wizengamot Chamber, Azkaban, the Department of Mysteries... each has its own array of protectors, none of whom can leave their posts to come here, even with the best of intentions. _The students and teachers surrounding the Aurors and Umbridge had stayed silent through her shrill speech, though whether to provide moral support or out of morbid fascination she could not say.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Umbridge started back, having tried to interrupt her multiple times. _She might have cursed me were it not for all the witnesses. _"I shall not have you decrying the premier forces of the Minister! Equally unacceptable, you have reiterated the same trivial conspiracy theory for which I have already punished several other students. I do believe that no amount of points deducted would be enough. You may consider yourself-"

"Perhaps, then, we should add some more?" Professor McGonagall volunteered. "Miss Granger has not only correctly identified the reason for your dispute with our absent Headmaster, but pointed out a possible explanation of why the dementors were here from the most ambiguous of verbal clues. Consider, for example, the distance between Azkaban and Hogwarts. Why would the dementors go so far? Why were they allowed to leave the prison? Would they not realize that attacking the school would be dangerous for them?"

"The dementors have no intelligence!" Senior Undersecretary Umbridge sqeaked, rather like her own Head of House. Hermione glanced briefly to Professor Flitwick, who nodded approvingly in her direction.

"Then they must have been ordered here," the Transfiguration teacher reasoned grimly. "Tender your resignation at once, Professor Umbridge. You have admitted to punishing students for speaking the truth of events they witnessed themselves, and you have admitted it in front of much of the Auror Corps."

At first the Defense teacher responded with nothing more than a saccharine smile.

"You forget, Professor McGonagall, that the Auror Corps answers to the Minister and I am his right hand. If, as always, all is in order at the Ministry, the owl should be arriving..." A snow white bird of prey entered the corridor through one of the high windows and Hermione briefly had a naive hope that someone would shoot it down.

The Supreme Undersecretary took the letter the owl had been holding and sent it away. _No, the poor thing didn't do anything wrong._

"From the desk of the Minister for Magic, in light of recent events, it has come to my attention that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore will no longer serve as an appropriate Headmaster, and must be replaced without delay by Dolores Umbridge..."

"Wait how fast do you want us to think that bloody owl can fly?" Roger Davies was asking from the crowd. "How do we know you didn't send it out the damn window ten minutes ago?" Shouting commenced immediately, though this was quieted almost as swiftly by a dozen red bursts of spellfire going straight up from the wands of the Aurors.

"I have seen the seal; the seal belongs to the Minister," one of them said, eliciting more objections. _She would have to have had that letter sent in advance... and if it were sent in advance, she would have to have planned the whole thing.  
_

"You have heard them! My claim is legitimate!" Umbridge shrieked, quick to get in a word. "What will your answer be, _Professor _McGonagall, unless that title does not suit you?"

Hermione watched with her mouth hanging slightly open as the Deputy Headmistress scanned the area, looking between the Aurors with their wands drawn, the amount of students, her eyes lingering momentarily on the occasional first-year before the Ravenclaw's own eyes widened in naked horror. _She's wondering how many of us would be hit-_

"Please, don't do it, Professor!" she cried. "We can put up shield charms- we've been practicing!" Her head whipped around as she made her own analysis, gaining little information for her racing mind to process. "First-years, get behind us-"

"You forget, girl, that there are spells that can travel through shielding," Umbridge threatened, almost entirely dropping the saccharine tone in her voice.

A mad stillness of dawning comprehension passed through the students.

"Take it not to heart, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall offered sadly. "At Hogwarts, we do not introduce Unforgivable Curses in the third-year curriculum. Ten points to Ravenclaw for being the brightest witch of your age."


	24. Wandless Magic

Hannah found herself with Terry, having shut themselves in the mysterious room. If she had been on panic mode previously, she was uncertain as to how to classify her present state, only that it was worse somehow.

"Stop pacing," Terry ordered quietly. _I'll bet he'd rather be stuck here with Hermione._

"Why?" she asked, frustrated. "I'm thinking."

"If you need to move around to think, you're in the most trouble of all of us." _That's not that clever. _

Only moments ago the pair of them had been helping move unconscious students inside, when Susan informed them that Umbridge had taken over as Headmistress. Perhaps she had meant for them to take this as a friendly warning to stop breaking rules, because wands were being warded arbitrarily downstairs, and then neither of them would have responded as expected. The Ravenclaw might have stunned her friend to keep her from following them, but Hannah gave a quick order to run and tell Hermione to come and find them, Ron too if she saw him. It would be enough for either of them, and too little for anyone else.

The Hufflepuff witch would count her blessings if both arrived, but she expected it little enough. The reason for her pacing was the myriad possibilities that stood out to her, none of which had been terribly pleasant thus far. For one, Umbridge had no way of keeping the post without the approval of the school governors, which meant keeping the story from getting out, and that would be patently impossible unless all the students were either obliviated, jailed, or dead by the end of the year, as she had already canceled Easter Holiday. The letters were being stopped, she knew, since none had come in anytime in the past few weeks at mealtimes, though it was possible some students with their own birds were sending letters at night; she had no idea if that was going on. As the Ministry's interests in the conflict was factored in, the situation became infinitely more complex. Controlling Hogwarts would give them hundreds of hostages, but only for a matter of months. Once most people in the wizarding part of the country had their children back, there would be less that the Ministry could do to resist a coup. Whether wizards had warded wands or not, if there was enough popular support, there would be little reason to worry about some functionary tracking what spells they were using. A coup would be only temporarily good for Hogwarts, since it would mean the arrests or the deaths of several specific people who were corrupt to the bone, but without the Ministry being basically functional, the Death Eaters would be mostly unchallenged as the rest of the wizarding population had no central force around which to rally. In an explanation that she had not especially wanted to hear, the overt corruption in the government was actually making the Death Eaters look good to thousands of wizards who had previously been neutral. Voldemort represented strength and competence, while the Blood Purists represented tradition and stability...

"Hannah, please stop pacing, you'll tire yourself out," Terry asked, more polite this time.

"I haven't even begun to consider all the possibilities!" she objected.

"Don't worry about all of them. Start with the most likely, at least," he muttered, tossing his wand out and bringing it back to his hand.

"Have you been practicing that?"

"Yeah, I was hoping I could redeem my summoning charm demonstration by showing everyone how to do it wandlessly. Suffice to say my plans have changed."

"You could show me how to do it."

The wizard seemed to consider it, and ultimately decided to go ahead with it as Ron came in with Hermione.

"It's not that much harder than doing it with a wand; it really is a simple charm," Terry started. Looking over at the new arrivals, Hannah imagined they had quite a few things to say, but did not wish to interrupt. She set her wand down on the tea table and gave it a shot.

"_Accio_ wand," she said, moving her hand in an arc.

"No, there's no need to do the wand motion. Look, think about it like there's a magical charge running through you, and you need to reach out with it. We call it a charge because a wand is something similar to the inverse of a lightning rod; helpful for guiding your magic, but in some ways, a crutch. I actually really like wandless magic because it's more than just a trick to get your wand back, it helps you understand how magic really works, how highly advanced witches and wizards can cast spells without saying the words."

"Terry, that's great, but-" Ron started. _He's probably getting tired of keeping us on track.  
_

"We'll be able to get around the warding. Think about it. Even if someone gets rid of Umbridge, the Ministry will still have the warding. If we use wandless magic, though, they'll have no idea."

"That's a good idea, Terry, thank you," Hermione offered. "I may need it the most of all." She held up her wand, revealing it had a ward as Ron waved his own over it.

"Did they get yours too?"

"No, I reckon they'll get to it soon enough. We've got to stay on our toes."

"What's our plan?" the Ravenclaw wizard asked, demonstrating the summoning again. _It'd be easier if I had some idea- _

In the silence she tried it a few times to no avail. Since being shown the charm, she had managed to do it with her wand, but without seemed an entirely different story. _Terry probably started with an easier spell, since he's so interested._

"I mean, we've got Fred and George working on some way of getting rid of Umbridge," Ron started. "Thing is, why is she here? Might be we can work on a way to get the wards off the wands."

"That's not supposed to work," Hermione explained. "It's not impossible to remove, it's just tied to the core. If you try to remove it, the wand incinerates it."

"How does the ward work like that?" Hannah asked. "How does it activate when you try to remove it? Why can't you remove the part that watches to see if you try to remove it?"

"They put that bit in the middle. I suppose it's a bit late to explain everything about how wards work, but basically you have to remove them from the outside in. Most wards activate if you touch them with your magic, and the activation process starts on the outside, even if you jab your wand at the center of the ward." Ron looked like he was discarding something he had been ready to suggest, though that might have been her imagination. "They put the trace ward on the outside, the fire ward inside that, and the anti-lifting ward in the middle, where it is informed of all the circles around it."

There were footsteps outside the room.

"Did anyone see you?" Terry asked. _It's probably night already. It's someone not afraid to be out of bed.  
_

"I don't know," Hermione responded, a panicked expression on her face. "Do we know it's someone dangerous?"

"Do we know it's not?" Ron asked, readying his wand. From the indistinct voices outside the door the Hufflepuff witch silently theorized whoever it was had some intent to open the door magically before attempting to break in. "Everyone get your potions ready. We're going to the Forest where they can't just find us in half a heartbeat."

"Is anyone besides Hermione warded?" the other Ravenclaw asked. "We can't give away our position once we're out of sight."

"I'm not," Hannah muttered quietly, having checked. The Gryffindor made an executive decision to tell everyone to get behind the furniture. "Now I wish you showed her the wandless summoning charm-"

The explosion at the door might have knocked them off their feet had they been standing next to it, but as it happened the Defense teacher was less ready for them than they were for her. _If only we had the numbers- _There were at least three wands firing spells into the room, and she guessed some older Slytherins had volunteered to help her, possibly for the same reason Malfoy wanted her to stay, if Ron's intel was to be believed.

"_Expelliarmus!_" she shouted, hitting one of them, knowing she was only taking him out of the fight temporarily. _All that studying I did of enchantments-_

"Run!" Terry shouted, downing his own speed potion and casting a shield charm with his free hand. _A wandless shield might be useful._ She hit herself in the head as she dug around in her schoolbag._ Why am I thinking of this now?!_

Hermione brought up the rear as they were out the door before their would-be captors were ready for them, casting shield charms that were deflecting as many spells as might have hit.

"No Unforgivable curses! They are no threat to us!" Umbridge exclaimed as they ran. _If we trip once we're dead- If I trip we're all dead. _Her thoughts kept her from concentrating on what she was doing as if to conceive a vicious cycle; she imagined the four of them tumbling to their demise...

"Ice!" she shouted, whipping her head around and hoping the Ravenclaw witch would understand her. She nodded and pointed her wand down at the stairs, stopping and starting as they ran. Ron and Terry provided something of a momentary cover fire, though how they could hit from such a range she had no idea. A disarming spell hit Terry, but the group suffered no other losses as the group of students tumbled down, one of them having stepped on a ward. Hannah caught Terry's wand as he failed to summon it back to his hand, tossing it the rest of the way.

Pressing the evasive advantage, Ron called for them to get a move on again, possibly hoping they could get the Supreme Undersecretary on her own, as the four of them could tear her apart. They heard shouting from behind them, meaning some of their pursuers were still on their feet. _Can't they die with dignity?_

Snape was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

_Time to pick a side, you greasy old bastard._

The wizard laughing at the display was the last thing she expected. He drowned out the shrill orders of the Headmistress, turning away and calling out that he had little enough authority to set the safety standards for his own classes, and as such he would not be intervening in matters beyond his authority, though she guessed the last bit as he had not cared to turn around and speak clearly as they ran past him. Ron's speed potion was really coming through; they were out the doors to the grounds before their pursuers could reach the landing.

"I'll be... behind the door," Ron started, out of breath, though Terry seemed to understand. He waved for her and Hermione to follow him to the Forest.

"Have you been in there before?" she asked.

"No. I believe Hermione would know more about magical creatures than I," he admitted, waving a wand to summon a broom. "I'll get out above us."

"Do you?" Hannah asked, almost breathless as Terry lifted carefully off the ground.

"He's thinking of centaurs and werewolves, mostly. I could hardly tell you about anything not covered in class."

There was an odd silence as it dawned on her that Ron might well be sacrificing himself, unless he had more of the speed potion and he intended to go back into the castle, forcing them to split up.

"Will that be of any help?"

"It isn't likely. The centaurs probably want no part in this." _Can you blame them?_

Still near the edge of the wood, she realized she and Hermione were essentially targets, able to make out Umbridge in all pink and the older students as they came through the doors. She felt the effects of the speed potion wear off as their pursuers seemed to lock on to them. _It doesn't make a difference to them if they can't see Ron right now._

Her eyes could only just pick up the spells that Ron was casting into their backs, unhindered by shields, knocking down quite a few of them and racing back inside, as predicted. Terry flew overhead, likely guessing that he would be going out another door and would need a lift. Hermione shouted at her to run, to get what was left of their pursuers to follow them. _Why would they follow us? If it's easier to go after the boys- _Whipping her head around back of her as often as she dared take her eyes from the path gnarled by roots, it appeared the trick was working, counter to what she had thought.

"Why are they chasing us?" she shouted after Hermione, who made no sound but to shut her up as they ran, and instantly she felt awful about asking an irrelevant question. _Where are Ron and Terry? Are they alright? _The Ravenclaw witch heaved herself over a massive fallen tree and started silently writing runes into the bark with her wand as the Hufflepuff joined her. _I can't ask her what she's doing. It'll just make more noise._

They stayed there quietly for a moment in maddening silence, Hannah wondering what was going on in her friend's mind as the girl wrote more runes onto nearby trees.

As the pair of them heard the crunching of Umbridge and her remaining help entering the Forest, Hermione finished up with the warding, waiting in abject silence. _I hope they really can't track the position of 'non-combative' spells, whatever that means. I really hope they weren't just saying that. _

"There is no point in resisting," one of the students called out, likely hoping for a quick surrender. "Your friends have already been caught." She grabbed the other witch's shoulder to keep her from jumping, but it was unnecessary. _How does she stay so still?_

Fighting to keep her own composure as their pursuers approached, stepping lightly to hedge against the possibility of ambush, she tuned out the Supreme Undersecretary's address as she gripped her wand tightly. _I don't know any lethal spells. _It was without doubt that virtually any spell had applications in combat, but the teachers at Hogwarts were intelligent enough to know the difference between a normally dangerous spell and a normally safe spell. If you could point it at someone and reasonably expect that person to die, you were not learning it as a first-year, and probably not until three years after.

_"Incendio!" _one of the students shouted.

"You'll burn the whole forest down!" Hermione shouted back, her voice cutting out on the last word. Hannah gave her a wide-eyed stare, but turned away as the spells were soaring over their heads. "I'm sorry," she choked. There was red in her eyes from stress.

"It's okay... we'll be okay," Hannah lied. _We're outnumbered. We're less experienced. We've lost the element of surprise. _Her mind desperately searched for ways the coming battle could go differently, but even if Ron and Terry had led more of them away, she could not come up with anything.

"There are three of them," the Ravenclaw whispered. "Warrington probably doesn't know it, but Umbridge has already threatened to use a killing curse."

The Hufflepuff only nodded in response, moving slowly out to the left of the oncoming force. They had their wands lit in the shade of the Forbidden Forest, so it was easier for her to see them than the other way around, but this did not provide much of an advantage. A distant growl reminded her that she was in the Forest where monsters lurked. _We're close enough to the edge, I hope. They don't usually..._

_"Petrificus Totalus," _she whispered, remembering the curse would provide no information about the place from whence it came. The remaining two whipped their heads around, but saw nothing. From a different position, Hermione managed to take down another one, but was then disarmed and levitated by Umbridge herself.

"_Expelliarmus!" _Hannah shouted, finding her own wand removed from her hand almost immediately.

"Oh, perhaps I failed to teach you about advanced shielding?" the middle-aged witch asked, tutting. "Or, perhaps, you failed to listen. _Petrificus Totalus!_"

The girl heaved herself out of the way immediately, but whipped her head around at the sound of Hermione being smashed into a tree. She might have wished the others were with them, but that relied on the hope that they were still alive, which she could not find within herself.

"I give up," she called out despondently from behind a tree.

"No, please, Hannah, you can't!" Hermione called out before being magically silenced. She was jerked into a tree again, though she managed to grab onto it.

"Oh, how I miss the days when this was how we treated chatty witches," Umbridge lamented, perhaps trying to demonstrate confidence with an inane comment.

"Where are the others?" she asked, stalling for time, though her mind continued to fail her. "Are they alright?"

"I make no promises to terrorists."

On another day, Hannah might have laughed, but she could not bring herself to do so. A crashing sound rang out, turning the attention of the Supreme Undersecretary away. She picked a warded rock off the ground and threw it, missing and drawing fire to herself as she tried to move out of the way, hit with a full-body bind all the same. Some crashing, enraged beast charged through the brush, knocking her over. A silent prayer activated the ward on her hand and she was illuminated in blue.

Her head hit a tree and the world was dark once more.


	25. The Flight

With the advent of the new Headmistress and her approach to governing Hogwarts, there was little doubt she had lost the support of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord in a stroke. Their grudging acknowledgement of the convenience of warding most of the wands of the students had held through the same punishment enacted on Slytherins, but was gone with the threat of Unforgivable Curses and their use on students, representing that the Ministry had near total control over several of the children of the blood purists, an irredeemable mistake for which she would not be forgiven. Draco had every expectation the Lord Voldemort would allow the use of many of the same curses on students if he were in control of the school, that being the essential difference.

Without a reason to rescue the captain from her sinking ship, he had moved forward with the plan to capture the Carrow sisters, informing his associates.

"Got it, Malfoy," Goyle had said with a refreshing simplicity and obedience.

The plan had been executed perfectly, with the exception of his own dropping one of the chests over the North Sea. He was infinitely grateful that Crabbe still had his hostage, but simultaneously humiliated and sick to his stomach, having killed a pure-blood witch by accident. _Father may accept me as a Death Eater, but he will never forgive me. _

Despite the fact that the man was a slave to the Dark Lord and the entire purpose of kidnapping his daughters had been to extort information from him, Draco had every intention of apologizing after the fact and accepting any challenge to duel that Amycus Carrow or his wife offered. He had been careless to try to magically attach the chest to the broom handle rather than carrying it and going slowly, and Hestia's jerking had moved it out of his grip at an inopportune moment. Physically reaching down to grab the handles had nearly thrown him from his broom, then Crabbe had gone under him to get it and made him miss with a levitation charm. Blaming his associates would have been uncouth, but he let them know that they really could have done better, as it was perfectly necessary to deflect the guilt of his own mistakes, however deeply he felt it.

_I'll simply have to feel it, then. Perhaps I really should curse the expressions off my face._

The use of the Floo Network had proven challenging for Goyle, but since he had found the appropriate fireplace it had been easy enough for the Malfoy heir to retrieve him. He elected not to go on about the mistake, merely reminding the young wizard that instantaneous transportation was a useful asset in a magical society, and not in an entirely patronizing way.

Malfoy Manor was dark, but as he called for the elf to light the dungeon he found there was no response. _Damnable thing might be with Father._

"Where's the dungeon and how do we get in?" Crabbe asked, still carrying the chest full of Flora.

"I'm glad you asked, the wards are a bit of a trick," he responded, leading the three of them to the hidden door, or perhaps the four of them. Waving his wand over the door, he showed them inside and Goyle set about the task of chaining the Carrow girl up. "Have either of you used any magic here?" he asked.

The response was a pair of shaking heads.

"Good, one of you might be warded." he muttered, waving his wand over Crabbe's, finding a couple of glowing yellow runes.

"Damn, I thought I checked it and I thought it wasn't warded."

"Is that yours or did you steal that one?"

It appeared he did not remember. He had been attacked more than enough times by various Hufflepuffs, and whether he succeeded or they did rarely mattered, since they had warded wands either way.

"Well, don't use it until we're back at school," he advised, remembering he had already written his father. _The owl should have arrived already unless they stopped it leaving. The Aurors were supposed to be looking for the old fool, but the toad-woman could probably find some help in keeping letters from getting out. I suspect Warrington or White would be interested, possibly Montague.  
_

Checking the study where owls were meant to arrive, he found that the letter was not there, but that could mean his father read it and burned it or that the owl had not escaped. He had done his best to encode the message, making it sound innocuous, but he imagined that whoever was stopping the letters had little enough time to check the content, if there were enough of them being put out at once. Fortunately for them, not nearly every student had an owl, with some of them preferring to borrow one whenever necessary.

"Malfoy we have her chained up and she hasn't a wand on her."

"Good work, Crabbe," Draco said without turning around. _I wouldn't expect her to have a wand, not after we disarmed her. I made sure of it myself. _"Did you ask her name?"

His henchman's answer was a shake of the head.

_I do hope we have Flora and not Hestia. For her to be able to pretend to be sane, she has to be somewhat more rational._

He had heard from the _Prophet _that the investigation on the Manor had come and passed, as influence from the Minister's office had come to suggest the Malfoy family likely had nothing to do with the corpse, since head of the family had never seen him before and there was other work available for the Auror Corps. _When the Death Eaters have the Ministry, there will be no investigations concluded on account of clever politicking... or bribes.  
_

"Contact your father, Crabbe. Allow him to take the credit for the hostage's capture if he likes. A light touch is needed here, and I would prefer that my father knew nothing of my involvement until I hear his response."

A wordless agreement was all he needed before moving on. To keep up appearances, he needed to be back at school, because even if someone had seen him escape, no one had followed to where he kept the Carrow girl.

The trip back was quiet, especially since he had his associates go ahead of him and firecall from the other side when the coast was clear. The sea was dark and full of an impossible gloom as he flew over it at a speed he would imagine to be blinding on an inferior broom. It was dark by the time he returned, but he supposed that fit, and he would simply have to get in anyway and he was fortunate to be on a broom. Not finding Crabbe and Goyle freezing outside, he supposed they had already been allowed in. He gave the most likely entrance for Professor Snape to be patrolling a quick knock.

The door opened, but what was unexpected was that he found himself hanging by his feet in the air.

"Malfoy," the potions master hissed. "Your father told me I could punish you to my heart's content." As a wide-eyed stare would have indicated that he had forgotten, he turned his face to the ground below him, only a few feet down lay his wand, which fell out of his cloak.

"Where are Crabbe and Goyle, sir?" he asked, suddenly kicking himself upon seeing Snape's expression change. _Why did I tell him about them? Why?_

"Where are Flora and Hestia Carrow, _sir_?" the older wizard asked, laughing cruelly. "Did you think I would not notice the disappearance of two of my students? They happen to be two of my favorites, especially after your little... fiasco with the corpse. Did you think I would have reported that to anyone apart from the Headmaster? I would sooner have him call for an investigation than any one of the school governors, since under him we might have had some semblance of respect for privacy, but your stupidity won the day again." He paused, seeing that Draco had not responded and would likely not respond, knowing that his punishment was inescapable and there were no answers to some of the questions he was asking. "Did you believe you had gained a fraction of the necessary political acumen to deal with the _Dark Lord _over a summer as a record keeper for the Wizengamot?"

Still refusing to answer, he was dragged in, lowered so he could feel the floor, which he used as an opportunity to snatch his wand.

"You have refused to allow me to help you, Draco, and for that reason I must construe you as my... enemy. So much as confiding the extent of your plans to me would have been enough that I could have shed some light on them. Alas, you mistook ambition for irrational mistrust, or is my estimation... incorrect?"

Still unable to determine the reason for Snape's manner of speaking, which had to be intentional, since he stepped out of it every so often, but only in private, the young Slytherin remained silent.

"Perhaps you intend to suffer in silence. Very well, admirable that it is, I hope you can continue it, and I hope you can suffer my silence," the wizard said as he dragged him through the air, catching sight of a group of students in the hall. They were transfixed, gawking at some shapeless form of orange and black, their eyes the same color upon further inspection.

"What did you do to them?" Draco choked at last.

"I know more dark curses than you know stars in the sky, Draco. This is a dark conjuration of my own design, would that I had known it years ago. Certain events... might have turned out... differently." _The war might have turned out differently. Imagine leaving one of these in Dumbledore's office- the old fool would never have suspected it. _"Anyway, though your father left your punishment to my... discretion, the use of dark magic may permanently damage your mind. _Finite._"

He waved his wand and the students, a few from Hufflepuff and a few from Gryffindor, came to their senses.

"Professor Snape..." the one girl started tentatively. "What are we all doing here?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I caught you near the dungeons, looking to attack the Slytherins in their... sleep?"

"I'm not sure about that, sir."

"Perhaps, then, you would believe me if I told you that Malfoy here used a memory charm on the four of you, after you caught him out of bed... plotting something."

The older students appeared to be considering it for a moment before agreeing the second explanation was more likely.

"Are you serious?" he asked, refusing to allow his voice to jump. "You're allowing _them_ to decide what-"

"I said nothing of the sort. I said I would remain silent, and that you would suffer it, but I have... other things to do this evening." He started to walk off. "Crabbe and Goyle have passed unharmed; I care nothing for your mindless... henchmen."

Alone with the students, he considered cursing them and running, but they were too close. A shield charm would work if the girl had not only just stepped behind him.

"_Expelliarmus. Silencio," _one of the Gryffindors muttered, catching his wand. "You might get this back." He waved his own over it to check for a warding. "Then again, you might not. Electrum here needs a replacement."

'Electrum' aimed a kick at his shins, which he tried to dodge. _I can't get out of this._

"What's that spell again?"

"Petri-"

"No, I want him squirming. Conjuring ropes, that one." _There's no escape.  
_

_"Incarcerous." _Cords wrapped themselves around Draco's midsection, pinning his arms.

Anger replaced his blood, the desire to threaten his captors exploding within him. More than anything, he wanted revenge on Snape, though that could come later. _If I tell them I'll kill them, they'll use it as an excuse to kill me. _He caught a blow to the face, unable to say from where. _So I shall not tell them._

The other two seemed emboldened by the first, avoiding visible bruises by tenderizing his stomach, but the witch proved herself worse, hugging him tightly from behind and fumbling with his belt.

"No one wants to see that, Henriette," one of the male voices muttered, probably Electrum.

"Really? I'm surprised. With his fortune he's got to have a little girlfriend somewhere."

"That doesn't mean she wants to see it either," the Gryffindor wizard spat. "He'll probably end up having the elf take care of it for him." A Hufflepuff wizard showed his appreciation for the slight by kicking him in the groin. Draco's eyes were swimming, but he kept from crying out. _It'll only encourage them..._

"Who's your girlfriend?" the witch asked, tightening his tie.

"Yeah, tell us so we can do the same to her."

_I can't keep them from doing anything to me.  
_

"I refuse," he managed, finding it hard to breathe.

_If I die here, Father will make Snape regret it. He'll make them all regret it._

"He probably doesn't have one," one said.

"No, he'd have told us that to save his own skin," the wizard from Gryffindor decided. "I can see him working over it. It's better to be insulted than dead, and better someone else dies than he does."

"Tell us her name," Henriette said in a falsely imploring voice. "...or something might go 'pop'."

_That's something I can't afford._

"My father will hear about this," he threatened. "If I disappear-"

"Oh, you won't be disappearing. I doubt even you could bring yourself to run to dear old dad."

What they were threatening was too serious not to take seriously, not even if he would have liked to.

"Give me back my wand," he demanded, trying to change the subject, but not expecting it to work. "You wouldn't dare harm me. You won't even leave bruises."

"We haven't. It doesn't mean we won't."

"You would not dare to act against her, but if it interests you so much, I shall tell you her name if you return my wand," he bargained, again not expecting much.

"Throwing your little girlfriend under the hippogriff?" the witch asked, acting surprised. "Well, I never."

"Let's hear it, Malfoy." Electrum said, tossing his wand on him. "We'll probably hear about how you've been abusing her."

He might have thought it was another wild accusation, like the one about how blood purists believed mudbloods had stolen magic, but it appeared Henriette took it as a joke.

"Is her blood not pure enough for you?" she asked as he got a few fingers through the ropes. _I must be turning blue from the strain on my throat..._

"Her blood is as pure as it gets," he managed, choking again. He doubted she appreciated the answer from the way she was pulling on his tie, but his fingers were on the handle of his wand.

"Tell us."

"Hestia Carrow." he spat. "If you try anything-"

"You're in no position to make threats," Electrum reminded him. "You'll see rather quickly that no one is outside of our reach. There are decent people the whole world over and we're all willing to do what's necessary. I know what Hestia looks like; she's on a list of ours. We'll find her."

_I'd like to see you try._

It appeared the four of them decided they would rather leave him to escape his bonds on his own than stick around and get caught by a teacher other than Snape, which was fine by him. The awkward use of a cutting charm on the ropes binding him gave him a moment to consider their inane verbiage, having already planned their deaths, or at least the basic ideas.

Essentially, their entire view of morality, or the state of being 'decent' was based on the side they took in the current conflict, rather than what they did or did not do. He had little doubt his father and most of the purists would have found the administration of his punishment deplorable, even for an elf, and he expected Dumbledore's people would feel the same way, if asked. Of course, they would tie this to an mostly unnecessary list of rules that applied to mudbloods, and many of them really just lacked the stomach, whether or not they realized it.

Not at all grudgingly, he concluded that the people he would be killing in the near future, in that they prided themselves on the side they took rather than personal character and manner, were actually similar to Snape, or possibly Rowle. Most of the Death Eaters tolerated Rowle because he was effective, but he frequently left a path of death a mile wide, and blood spilt was not always a good thing. As such he was mostly left to assignments where he was unlikely to harm anyone important, and frequently he would be sent places alone, unless the mission was complex enough he required someone less thick than himself. The Head of Slytherin House was respected for his understanding of dark magic and potions, but privately gentlemen like his father and Selwyn thought less of his manner and motivations.

Professor McGonagall found him in the hallway, glancing down at his limp and nodding.

"Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps you would like to explain the reason you are out of bed?"

_If I risked life and limb to keep Umbridge here, that toad-woman had better do something for me._

"It appears I have lost the note Professor Umbridge gave me-"

"While you have a clever excuse, I see, you have made it clear you have not been in the castle at any point in the last twelve hours, by my estimation." He could already hear the emeralds moving in Slytherin's hourglass. "Madam Undersecretary Umbridge has been rent to shreds by a creature of the Forbidden Forest."


	26. Interlude: Dumbledore

The wizard had been old for decades, but never quite so old as today.

Feeling the presence of the dementors, he cast the Patronus Charm as effortlessly as ever, which was to say, with the great pain of remembering the last time he saw Ariana happy. He had no memories more recent that he would consider happy ones, if asked. His defeat of Grindelwald was a defeat of his old self, everything he had been for years, and when the next war came it was one of his own students, another ones of his failures, back to haunt him. To worsen matters, he did not but win that war, despite the efforts of his former students there was never a victory, for all the achievements there was never one that outweighed the cost, or even approached it. Perhaps it should have been expected that anyone calling himself Voldemort would be a net negative, but under a more capable leader, perhaps he could have been defeated more swiftly.

The wizard he once knew as Tom Riddle was no Grindelwald, for one. Rather than relying on being an individually powerful wizard, he built an army for himself, effectively refusing to duel his former Transfiguration teacher, were such an offer ever to be proposed. Appealing to the blood purists and their desire for a powerful leader, having squabbled for centuries about which of them had the greatest heritage, he resurrected their old command structure, to each lord his loyal fief made of the rustic wizards who worked his properties. Family ties were formalized by renewed oaths of fealty, complete with rings for the kissing, time honored traditions of primogeniture made their way into property law, and the titles became more than mere decorations.

_This is not to say there is no place for decoration. _The interior of the prison was an entirely different place than his office, dreary and empty with only the most utilitarian torches in floating sconces. _Odd. I would have thought it would be darker._ The Astronomy on the floor seemed to concern the balance of life and death, the waxing and waning of youth, and-

His eyes went straight for the open ceiling as his mind made the connection, staring up into the pale light of the full moon.

"_Fumos," _he cast, ejecting a great grey cloud from his wand, hoping to block at least some of the light, though it appeared it was filtering through. "_Fumos!_" The prison darkened again and the inmates were starting to respond. _Whatever the purpose of this light, I cannot allow it to come to fruition. I must prevent the light from shining, whether to awaken a werewolf-_

_"Expelliarmus." _Having sensed the presence of others before hearing the incantation of the spell, he was able to deflect it without turning around, which he was sure others would take for superhuman ability. The truth was he had worked for years on an enchantment that would gently warm his robes in the direction of ill intent toward him, which reliably preceded harmful spells. _Of course, I am quite defenseless against acts of madness or accident._

"Albus Dumbledore..." Robert Nott started as he turned, facing some ten or fifteen Death Eaters.

"I see you have not brought your spell fodder, Mister Nott," he commented quietly, confirming they had no other help as the group spread out, the better to avoid being taken down by a single spell. "A great regret of mine has always been never getting to know the rustics, as I would wonder what about poor History students inspires them so."

"Well, the good thing about regrets is you only have them so long, old man," Amycus Carrow offered.

"Admirable of you to look on the bright side, when all other lights seem to go out," the ancient warlock noted, amusing himself by misinterpreting a threat. "I continue to find old age preferable to the alternative, of course, even as my eyes leave me." His mendaciously sharp vision was sufficient to determine the clouds were thinning, especially with the movement in the room. _The moon covers a distance equal to its diameter each hour. _He quietly decided it was not, indeed, an auspicious day for time to take his side.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Alecto Carrow shouted. _Always a boisterous one in classes, though never a slouch. Her undoing will be her inability to counter the unexpected. _Dumbledore apparated away from the curse, allowing it whatever target it found.

_"Crucio!_" her brother followed, perhaps wanting to make him feel the pains old men ought to bemoan. _I would trade them for mine, but for that I deserve what I have. It is a pity he will not live to see the error in his ways, as his risk evaluation was never perfect. _He used a quick physical shield, a wall of water that turned toward Alecto as it blocked the spell, disapparating before another killing curse could hit him. _In a moment's folly I shall die._

_"Teine __gu bràth,"_ he cast almost silently, orange flames erupting from his wand as he mouthed the Gaelic. _The charm creates no impressive firestorm, but I have no intention to incinerate the population of Azkaban. _He avoided another curse, one he did not recognize, suppressing his own curiosity. _The essential advantage is that this fire burns forever, and the smoke will be thick and black._

In the next moment he avoided a pair of killing curses by calling their casters into their paths. _Alas, Goyle, you were never the type to understand how a wizard may accomplish two things at once. _

"_Septentrio." _The spell came from the wand of Lucius Malfoy, who took none too little reserved delight in its unblockable nature as a wind from the north coursed violently through the prison, dispersing the clouds as the white light came down, distracting the Death Eaters as he killed Pyrite and his twin brother, slashing the pair of them with a wave of liquid metal. _You were never able to focus on what was important, not now, not in Care of Magical Creatures all those years ago._

At the slightest tremor of the earth below, the old Headmaster apparated directly upward, looking down to behold new horrors erupting from the floor as the Astronomic symbols within the geometric designs erupted in white light, a strangled cry of a wolf drowning out the sounds of incantations.

_What have you done, Tom... what have you-_

Ekriz-dis, reborn from alabaster bones reassembled wordlessly drew his grandfather's wand to his hand, a thin scalpel of hazel and dragon blood already loosing spellfire in the direction of a masked Death Eater who made the mistake of standing behind a dark wizard. In a burst of pale light, the dementors fled. He turned the wand on the second oldest wizard in the prison, silently accusing him of having invaded his home.

"I did not drag these people here, Ekrizdis," he said, descending slowly. _I am responsible for my successes and failures and this was neither. _"I did not decide that your former residence would be used as a prison, however I have fought to keep these people from freeing their old friends." _They are my former students, though their actions have been their own since leaving my care._

Perhaps the skeletal wizard had not the lungs or lips to speak, but it seemed he could hear, as he shook his head slowly, the intruders in the prison backing away, making their indecision evident. _Voldemort would have been excited to see the return of a great dark wizard, especially one who died with knowledge untold, but for them it is a different story entirely. _He doubted many of them cared much for their leader's disregard for magical life, and the last thing they wanted was another Dark Lord. Dumbledore avoided an unknown curse from the dark wizard, thankful for the thousandth time the Anti-Apparation wards were down, likely already removed by a corrupt Auror in preparation. _And yet, they take his side for the same reason they take the side of Voldemort. _The succeeding curse was a white flash he recognized as a Greek petrification, one he could block with a basic shield and respond with a reductor.

Disappointingly, he found the skeleton formed again as the bones were blasted apart, without even a moment's respite as the dark wizard attempted to transfigure the floor of his own tower, raising steel spikes up from the stone, and his succeeding apparation took him to the spiral platform. He conjured a barrage of rock to fall on the intended target, though it appeared the spikes would prevent them, Ekrizdis using the opportunity to send a dark curse in his direction, activating a ward in the walls to constrict them, and killing a few of the prisoners. Dumbledore shielded, merely stalling in the possibly vain hope his racing mind would catch up, not daring to look for the Death Eaters- the metal of the bars cracked as the stone moved, pieces flying freely, making themselves difficult to avoid. _With all the enchantments on them I can't destroy them in the air._

The dark wizard was quickly overwhelming him, aided by his lack of concern for the prisoners, unwelcome if faultless residents of his home. They were dying and escaping all the same, lost in the ratrace that was the deconstruction and reconstruction of the tower.

The aged wizard had realized that whatever was keeping his enemy alive would continue to preserve him, whatever happened to bones, only there was no way to know what it was. He theorized an enchantment or perhaps a complex ward on each bone, but that did little to explain what tied him to some true semblence of life beyond the mere movement of limbs. _A soul- to use magic he must have a soul._

Fighting off a dark conjuration, a writhing mass of bloody limbs and eyes with a conjunctivitis, he regained himself as he ran up the platform, charming his own bones at the joints to keep them from fracturing. Keeping his eyes on the alabaster remains of the dark wizard, he cast a shield charm directly above Ekrizdis as he willed himself upward. _No active spell keeps him tethered to life; I seek something more permanent. _As a werewolf broke out of his cell, Dumbledore turned his wand and sent the beast flying out the other side and through a hole, where he hoped the former prisoner would land in the water and survive, though it was something he could not verify with any reasonable haste. Decades ago, when young Remus Lupin attended Hogwarts, he had academic interests in determining what the boy could and could not suffer, though he could imagine no way of determining that without harming him.

The ancient dark wizard shook the tower itself as the very stone of the walls threatened to transfigure, though it was doubtful he wanted to destroy his own home entirely.

"_Bombarda!" _he shouted, pointing at the astrogeometry on the floor, rendering it to a haphazard pile of bricks on the bare earth of the foundation. _No, he no longer needs the warding; that was merely the activation of what preserves him. _He apparated again to avoid a bolt of lightning, finding he had run himself ragged, and that Ekrizdis had another trap waiting for him where he landed. The deep violet light of a ward shone beneath his feet as the remnants of prison bars sharpened themselves and converged in the air, turning his mind to the books of dark magic he kept high in his office as he shielded. _There is nothing..._ A dark curse sought him out as his eyes were on the metal spears, forcing him to apparate again and move the shield. _There is nothing this wizard would not do._

Turning to the pale moon above, he remembered Gellert mentioning a way of extending a magical lifespan beyond what was natural, the darkest of the old magicks.

He apparated again, this time to the very height of the tower, raising his wand directly upward as the ceiling cracked beneath his feet and red streams of spellfire encircled him. As he fell he attempted to deflect the curses while prisoners, dying, trapped, or fighting to escape watched, shouting incomprehensibly. Turning downward, he wandlessly levitated the skeleton as he lowered himself to what remained of the floor, catching Ekrizdis off guard. Some sort of snarling was almost entirely drowned out.

"_Glacius,_" he cast, encasing the torso of the dark wizard in expanding ice just as he regained himself. _The spell must be fast, traveling hundreds of thousands of miles- _With his wand again pointed upward, he saw to his horror that the skeletal warlock had managed to free his own wand arm with a wandless wave of heat. _I had only one chance- _The eyes of the alabaster skull ignited with fire as a snarl came again, a great black shape coming down from the spiral platform and seizing the wand arm. _-and I shall never have another._

"REDUCTO!" _Forgive me, Cornelius. _

The moon would not be reduced to rubble for several minutes at least, even with his unerring aim, and he apparated again to find himself in a cage of ice, though the Galbraithian fire was still burning despite the best efforts of the dark wizard, melting it quickly. _He has learned to predict apparation by the warding he placed on the tower.  
_

"_Aquaeructro!" _he shouted, with a jet of water knocking the skeleton out of the ice and into the fire, where he hoped if nothing else the dark wizard's ancient wand would burn, though he found himself dodging the sharpened iron bars, as they had rounded the shielding. Whatever black beast had seized the wand arm of Ekrizdis was gone, perhaps having been thrown asunder or perhaps having fled, never to return.

If his ruse of using a water charm that would be ineffective against the everlasting fire had succeeded in confusing the reanimated skeleton, there was no sign, as he managed a conjuration, a green dragon's head twisting out of the earthen foundation. Dumbledore shielded as a gust of air came from the dragon's head, the alabaster bones of the dark wizard cracking with crypt dust shaking out. The wind took him off guard, knocking him back into the wall, his wand leaving his hand.

Slumped against the wall as he beheld the skeletal remains becoming nothing more than that, he wondered if what he was feeling was close to dying, as he imagined his back might well be broken, or at least badly damaged. Ekriz-dis, son of Angmar of Gale, stared back at him, raising a hand to a glowing white rune in the wall, binding the former teacher fast as he disintegrated at last, his bones falling apart.

He looked at them for a moment from his prison, shocked as they exploded. A disheveled Lucius Malfoy strode in, grabbing his wand as he tried to summon it to his hand.

"Loath though I may be to put you out of your misery so soon, Professor Dumbledore, it appears the plans have moved forward more swiftly than I had thought reasonable."

"Lucius, you cannot believe Fortune would allow you to survive this... battle and your son to survive your master and his plans..." Dumbledore managed, unable to apparate wandlessly. _Lucius... you reactivated the wards... because you took them down._

"Already I can see the life leaving you, and the dark days of sclerosis for the wizarding world passing us by," Nott muttered, though in truth his eyes were scanning the room for threats. _I expect the rest of them have already left._

"You would trade me... for a man come back from the dead?" He coughed. "Let it be remembered, Lucius Malfoy, that this was your choice."

"The Dark Lord is not so eternal as you may believe, and yet there is no reason to deal with him at the moment, as he has shown himself to be a capable leader. If the bloodshed is truly behind us, then we shall have no further problem with his existence. If not, then we may well need him." The lord spoke quickly and efficiently, likely having to escape soon. _He needs to be elsewhere, but his friends will neither be so compelled, nor so fortunate._ "Should you find fault with my confidence that he will not destroy the wizarding world, perhaps you should have evaluated your own choice of staff more carefully."

"I trust Severus... with my life," Dumbledore managed. _I have lived long and fought well. Let the defeat of Ekrizdis be my only true victory. _"As I speak I realize my life... expires and you will require greater... proof of conviction." He coughed, his blood flowing freely from Nott's curse. "I trust Severus with Hogwarts. It is my will that he would be the Headmaster after I die." He closed his eyes and allowed his arms to fall to his side as he was released from the ward. _Let me regret only the good left undone in my final moments.  
_

As the Death Eaters left, he estimated he had mere minutes to stare at the pale moon above, or what was left of it.

"Headmaster..." His tired eyes flitted open to a familiar dark-haired wizard clutching a wound in his chest, where perhaps the spikes had slashed his ribs.

"Save yourself... Mr. Black...There remains no hope for me." Perhaps the other wizard wondered why he spoke as if to any other former student, but he had not seen his own courage, attacking a dark wizard without a wand, something no traitor of the Potters would have ever done. "Your destiny... is greater than mine."

"Please, sir... you can't die..."

"I fear... I already am." _Will the light of this moon be my grave, then? Shall I be interred alongside the wizard they will call my greatest enemy? _He coughed again. _I would have picked Grindelwald._ "I was only just thinking of your old friend, Remus. He lives at Hogwarts, now, though he... has not been a man in years..." Sirius was crying, an uncharacteristic expression, he thought. "Perhaps an old dog... is the very thing he needs."

The moon's light seemed to dim, and the cries of the convicted murderer seemed to soften, but even as the endorphins rushed to his brain, he knew these were perceptions of impossible realities, fanciful dreams of a dying mind.


	27. Casualties

Ron had better things to anger him than a newspaper. He knew it, he understood it, but it seemed his anger refused to cooperate.

"They're saying bloody _Dumbledore_ arranged the whole thing with Azkaban!" he shouted in the crowded Hospital Wing, crushing a copy of the _Prophet _with a hand that had gone from red to purple in the last few minutes. By 'the whole thing' he was referring to the bodies of Death Eaters, known and unknown, as well as an unidentifiable skeleton, the escapes, the partial destruction of the prison, and the complete destruction of the moon.

"Ron, you have to understand that the way they've been looking at things, it was a perfect opportunity," Terry cautioned, glancing around as if to see if anyone noticed them, as if it were not already a certainty. "Someone went in there and killed known blood purists and prisoners, they don't know who did it, but Professor Dumbledore was already a fugitive and he made it clear he didn't like Death Eaters- it just fits too well for them, they're not going to keep investigating." He pursed his lips. "The only reason we know he didn't do it is because we trust him, and we barely know him. Who was his father, Ron?"

"I don't know who his bloody father was, but we damn well don't have anyone else to trust. They're only putting this on him because he's... because he's dead and can't defend himself."

"Certainly doesn't help his case," Terry muttered curtly.

"Come to think of it, anyone that old's father is going to be dead about fifty years on by now-"

"It didn't have to be his damn father, Ron, my point is that no one else knew him. Even if there were another story, no one would have believed it. They already think he made up the whole thing about Voldemort coming back, or at least they're acting like it."

The red-haired wizard did not bother to tell his friend that there was indeed another story out there, an anonymous former prisoner had used a stolen wand to disarm a writer for the _Prophet _long enough to explain that the real problem was Ekrizdis, who had been brought back as a way of destroying the prison to free the Death Eaters, and killing Dumbledore had been a windfall. Ron did not need anyone to explain to him why no one believed that version of events.

They were in the Hospital Wing, same as quite a number of their classmates, because Hannah and Hermione had been badly hurt, the first by Umbridge's spells, the second by some sort of creature, having been discovered with bites and deep cuts, her robes torn to shreds. _At least the old bitch didn't survive it._

Umbridge had been found by a few of the teachers with a gaping hole in her chest cavity, having been killed by some sort of creature, maybe the same one that attacked Hannah, maybe not. The obituaries were already acting as though being killed by a creature proved her point about their being dangerous, and no mention was made of where she had been when attacked.

Hermione at least was lucid, her injuries having been healed. She found them near the entrance, far from Hannah.

"Ron, Terry, I know you're concerned for Hannah, but we can't do anything for her and Madam Pomfrey is trying to get as many students out as she can," Hermione pleaded, her voice tired. She had been telling people she was fine for hours. _She's been lying for hours._

They went out without protest, having already seen that their Hufflepuff friend was in no state to talk, not that they wanted to talk with her as much as they needed her to get better. The loss of Dumbledore had not hit him, he knew, but it would, and it would hit Hannah shortly after. _Might be a good idea to not tell her right after she wakes up. Reckon we'll need to ease her into it._

"Can't believe bloody Snape's going to be Headmaster," he said at length, deciding to change the subject. He had learned about it from the _Prophet _article, in which a witness to the carnage, Lucius Malfoy heard it out of the dying wizard's lips that he would trust the Potions master with the school. Macmillan had been shouting at an otherwise quiet breakfast that it was a bunch of lies, that Dumbeldore would never have wanted Snape to control Hogwarts. _Ernie prob'ly wasn't one of the Hufflepuffs knocking on his door at all hours of the night demanding he kick the Slytherins out._

"I would have thought Professor McGonagall would be the ideal choice," Terry offered. "She's been here much longer."

"She's also a better teacher," Hermione objected. "We can't do without her lessons. There's supposed to be another Potions teacher who's willing to come out of retirement; I don't know everything." It hurt to see the red in her eyes, but he did his best not to stare.

"Well, didn't he not trust him with the Defense class? Why would he trust him with the whole school?" Terry asked.

"He'll be deciding who teaches Defense, so really it makes no difference," Hermione said, staring out into space. "Let's go back to the room; only a few of the Slytherins knew where it was and Professor McGonagall expelled them for attacking us." Ron thought it was worth considering whether or not Warrington or one of the others would inform Malfoy of their hiding place, but there were other concerns.

"Well how do we know he won't pick bloody-"

"He won't pick Voldemort, Ron, even a Death Eater wouldn't," Terry objected. "Wherever he is, he's got better things to do."

The group stayed silent for a moment before Hermione started explaining what had happened with Hannah and herself in the Forbidden Forest. It appeared that the Hufflepuff's protective ward had gone off on schedule, but it had only been enough to keep her alive, as she was still bitten by the same beast that killed Umbridge by surprising her and having some resistance to standard spells.

"The Killing Curse might have worked, but she was too close," the Ravenclaw witch explained. "Whatever it was just already had her before she could do anything. I tried summoning my wand to help Hannah, but..." she choked up.

"It's okay, Hermione," the wizard from her House started. "I wish I'd shown you the wandless summoning charm. This is my-"

"No, no, I tried and I tried and eventually I just jumped down from the tree and picked up my wand."

"Did the creature attack you?" Ron asked, forcing himself to keep from blaming her. The objectively strategic thing to do in that situation would have been to climb back up the tree before cursing the beast, but he could understand why she would put herself in such danger. _I'd have done the same for her._ "Are you alright?"

"Yes, ye- it just ran off eventually when it heard people coming, but not because of me." She had not stopped crying, but she could speak, as though she had rehearsed what she was going to say. "When I came down from the tree... I saw that it was a werewolf." She buried her face in her hands. "I couldn't manage a killing curse. I tried, and I tried, but I just couldn't do it."

"It's okay, not everyone gets a spell on the first try," Terry said. "I know you get a lot of spells on your first try; I've seen you in class, but the Killing Curse is a dark spell, and especially if you're not familiar with dark magic-"

Hermione was shaking her head, but no sound came out of her mouth. The other Ravenclaw made a move to hold her, but she stood up abruptly, murmuring about needing to use the lady's room. Ron was aware of a glower in his expression, which he had not allowed either of his present friends to see.

_I know exactly why you couldn't produce a killing curse.  
_

They waited in relative silence until the black-haired wizard got out a book and started reading it.

"What're you reading?"

"It's a resource on the history and practices of wizarding courtship."

"Why the hell do you need that?"

"It's merely something that helps me think. Some people pace in circles, some people turn pages in meaningless books. Different strokes."

"Have you ever met Hermione? You might like her," Ron joked. _Can't really make fun of him for reading some off book when I'm joking at a time like this. _As he should have expected, Terry must have found it to be in poor taste, and closed the book, exhaling through his nose loudly. Hermione came down the stairs again.

"Sorry, all. I think we need to write some wards," the brunette witch ventured.

"What?"

"I think that's a great idea," Terry volunteered. "How permanent do we want them to be?"

"Well, I don't think we need to cut them into our skin."

"Of course not," Ron muttered, imitating the Ravenclaw wizard's voice. He had the occasional Americanism, but it was nothing terribly noticeable. "We could use a charm to change the color of the skin," he muttered, more helpfully.

"That wouldn't work," the other wizard groaned. "Wards rely on layering, putting the runes either onto or beneath a surface, putting them within the surface has been proven non-viable."

"Thanks, I'll remember that when I'm in a class in Ancient Runes."

"Shut up, both of you," Hermione instructed. "You're both just stressed out and lashing out at each other."

"That's probably it," Terry muttered, either as a method of making peace or avoiding any other possible explanation. "What do you think would work?" _What's he doing acting like a dog all the time?_

"It can't be a charm or enchantment, those can get washed off if we pass through anything like the Azkaban gate. I really don't want to use ink again, though, it rubs off, it washes off, and it would not hide like a normal ward."

"Could you enchant the ink to not rub off? Could you enchant it to hide when necessary?" Terry asked.

"Hannah might have been reading a book on that," Ron ventured. "Could have sworn it had to do with inedible marks."

"You might be looking for 'indelible marks', and she was, if I'm not mistaken," Hermione sighed. "Now we just have to wait for her to wake up."

Time passed.

Ron had homework to do, he knew, though it seemed of little consequence when placed in reference to the Headmaster being dead and little being left to stop the Death Eaters from taking Hogwarts, if they even needed to take it by force. _Least they're not going to tolerate any Inspectors. Still remember the way Snape looked when Dumbledore promised us they'd never be back._

He wondered how well promises could be kept after death, and though he was not in a positive mood, as long as the Headmaster kept the Ministry's agents out of the school, the promise would technically be fulfilled. Dumbledore, or whoever led the staff, could delegate tasks to them and be responsible for whether or not they turned out well.

Deciding that he might as well read, he picked up a potions book and opened to a chapter he was aware was not being covered. _If school work and exams took a holiday every time the damn castle was at the risk of not existing, we'd never make it through two years of material._

He read through about a chapter and switched to the other book, hoping a change would help him focus. It was a text he had picked up from the library on a whim, _War Magic, _and it mostly concerned spells that presented a strategic advantage rather than a direct combative advantage, one being an enchanted water basin that allowed the war wizard to see the entire battlefield. _Reckon that's a bit old-fashioned. Might have been useful back when there were battlefields. _There was a charm that you could cast on an enemy soldier that would not harm him in any way, but show you how many there were on his side. _Looks pretty complex, but at least you'd know about when to call a retreat. _

Looking up to notice Hermione was reading as well, he decided that nothing would get the three of them out of it unless someone said something, but he would rather leave the others to it. He needed to find Zabini. _It's not like they wouldn't agree with it if they knew. We need information._

The young man was sitting in the Divination classroom, unoccupied as it was. _Can't figure out why he wanted to meet here of all places._

"I've got the list you wanted," he opened, tossing a folded length of parchment from his bag before the darker wizard. "All the Ravenclaws remaining neutral, and I've circled the ones who want out."

"This isn't your handwriting- Ravenclaw friend of yours, I take it?" Zabini was more perceptive than he was, but there were limits to what he knew. For one thing, he put on a show of being on any side he fancied, but the Gryffindor was perfectly aware he had no side but his own.

"Might be. I've got a few of those." _You're not getting information without paying for it._

"Ah, well, nothing for nothing, I suppose." The Slytherin placed a similar length of parchment on the table, on the other side of the crystal ball. _Even money it's a list of dead Death Eaters._ "Your little gang attracted quite a bit of attention two years ago, not so much the year after that."

"Prob'ly because we mostly split up." _Reckon Malfoy having a close eye on us had something to do with why you know. _"Neville, well he was out of things, and Hermione got petrified." _Crabbe and Goyle went with Malfoy, so he could keep reminding them to breathe.  
_

"I see. You can't do very much on your own, can you?"

"Don't reckon you could. Wouldn't be here bargaining, otherwise," Ron shot back, keeping his voice down as his ears reddened.

"Where will you be going, then? Australia?"

"Running's not for me." _Not really a reason to fight anymore, but I can't run. They'd be looking for me like Charlie's looking for Ginny.  
_

"I suppose Gryffindor girls don't fall for you for your heads. Ah, well, _c'est la vie. _I had been hoping someone had done the work of looking up places to go."

"If I knew where the perfect place to go was, I'd look for Ginny there," he muttered. "You're not going to stick it out with the Death Eaters after all their losses?" he asked, looking over the list.

"All the more reason not to stay. You're going to help the Hufflepuffs and the Ministry fight them, I then?"

"I can't help them," he said under his breath, thinking of Ebony and what he had heard from Hannah. "I can't allow them to stay in power. When the Death Eaters were weak, they just made themselves stronger."

"Truly?" Zabini asked. Ron found himself only a little annoyed at the boy's way of speaking. _It's an act. Even the Slytherins who don't like playing these games need to seem capable of playing them. _"Well, if you're not going to get out, the next smartest thing would be to pick a side. They won't let you remain neutral, not when both of them know it. The best thing about doing the smart thing is you only have to be concerned with which side is stronger. I'm sure you could figure it out. You have a mind for such things, in a sense."

"Well, I can't tell you it's the right thing to do, I'd have to read a book on bloody ethics or something, or maybe talk to someone who knows something; doesn't matter since they all say different stuff anyway," he explained, staring into the murky depths of the crystal ball. Wizarding ethics were rarely formalized in writing, with Merlin being the first and one of the most notable authors on such a resource. As near as he understood it, children were brought up with the standards of their families, with the pure lines frequently raising their children to be purists, and everybody else growing up with Merlin knows what. Somehow things that were right and wrong seemed obvious to him, and always had, and anyone who disagreed could shove off, since they were apparently thick. The only problem with that was running into all the students at Hogwarts with different views, and the same method of defending them.

"I've had people tell me all sorts of things are the right thing to do... directly or otherwise," the darker wizard returned. "They never get past this, though- how do they know? Others disagree, as you say, why are they wrong and you right? How do you know morality is even real? We thought reversing potions to their ingredients was possible, and it was logically sound, to be sure, but it was only something we believed because people said it all the time, until it was proven impossible by extensive experimentation. How do we know it's not like that?"

"Well, I don't think it's like that, but I can't prove it. It's kind of like how I don't think another year of Umbridge would be a good thing, but I can't prove it. Reckon there's only one question left."

"What would that be?" Zabini asked, appearing legitimately interested.

"D'you remember thinking like that before the war?"


	28. Civil Society

Hannah was still sleeping when Neville arrived with a silent Goyle, sitting down across from Hermione.

_It is well this place is mostly empty, what with the parents pulling their children out of school. _She was reminded again of her own attempt to flee, which, as it turned out, only made things harder for others.

"Hi, Neville," she said quietly. A moment passed. "Hi, Goyle."

Both of them simply nodded in response.

She thought back to first year, where she had to deal with both of them as she tried to find the Philosopher's Stone, or perhaps they had to deal with her. _I was not exactly pleasant. _The Ravenclaw remembered that she had come up with the password system, mostly to protect herself against the potential errors of those she saw as less competent than herself, only to find that an Inspector had cleverly turned the system against her, then Neville trusted her less, freezing her and taking her down to the Quidditch Pitch for interrogation. In September, she had attempted to set it up again, though Ron most likely forgot after she and the Hufflepuff wizard across from her had been absent, or effectively absent. Terry had most likely just taken the cue.

Hannah stirred in her sleep.

_Please wake up. We need you._

She wondered if this was how the blonde witch had felt staring down at the heir to House Longbottom, waiting for him to wake up for no reason other than because she liked him, not because she needed him to hold the group together, or whatever reason Professor Dumbledore had to assign a bodyguard to him, partially to serve as a tutor. _I suppose we'll never know what that was unless she tells us.  
_

"Do we know when she's meant to wake up?" Neville asked.

"I don't. She's only been physically injured, so it shouldn't be too long." The truth was that she was guessing, as she had not spoken to Madam Pomfrey in days, possibly weeks. The brunette witch had some idea the matronly Healer was sleeping at the moment, which was well, now that her patients were out of danger.

"Do werewolves heal faster?" he asked.

"It's more complicated than that," she answered quickly. "They stop bleeding in minutes, and the scratches disappear a few hours later, but everything internal takes longer. Sometimes people will think they're healed when really, they're suffering. If Hannah has been infected, we shouldn't tell her immediately," she decided, kicking herself. "It's something that will... take her a long time to accept."

It had been a hard pill for her to swallow. Only a few weeks ago, Hermione had tried to find some way of contextualizing the werewolf curse as a neutral or good thing, something for which the afflicted should not be ashamed. In an attempt to make them feel better about their new state, she had looked up a few details about their abilities, mostly from _Transfiguration Today_, as she preferred not to look in a bestiary. Though she had little enough time for the research between everything else she had to do, it was disappointing to find that people with lycanthropy really just wished they had never contracted it, and they had no other complaints. Prouder sorts like Fenrir Greyback, a known ally of the Death Eaters, reviled the wizarding community and believed the status of being a werewolf was a blessing and to be respected, though that only seemed like wishful thinking after a careful review of the literature. Werewolves not following the ideology desired to live among humans, even though the human population wanted nothing to do with them. The Ravenclaw witch had thought this was a mistake, since they had nothing to fear from living among werewolves, while human wizards were wont to carry silver weapons, but she could hardly advocate segregation. Werewolves had done nothing wrong to earn their status, and therefor nothing to earn such punishment... but was it a punishment?

At the end of her reading, she eventually decided she had to look at it a different way. It would be bad if too many people were transformed, since normal people would find out about wizards before long, seeing naked men and women disappear from their back yards with a wave of a wand. Technically it would not be bad if there were no werewolves, as long as the means to get there were more nuanced than just shooting them. If it were possible to cure a werewolf, even without reasons apart from the academic she would have to at least explore it, and she could not say it would not solve the problem in a stroke, except for those who wished to remain lycanthropic. In that event, they would just have to be... kept at an arm's length.

Hermione's expression darkened as she reached the conclusion, failing to find a way around it. While being turned into a werewolf would no longer be a terrible threat, as the unwilling could be turned back, there would still be the problem of being turned into a corpse. While the same was true of all wizards to an extend, the afflicted would attack and kill people, including other werewolves, if only occasionally. She considered the possibility of just making it illegal to bite people, and trying the willing werewolves like regular criminals, but there would still be people who did not realize they were under the curse, and would bite or kill people without realizing what was going on. What if the cure took time to work? Even if it were perfect, what would it cost?

"Have you heard about what happened?" she asked Neville. _Why am I being so- of course he's heard of it.  
_

"Goyle told me. Looked through the _Prophet _a couple times before he let me have it."

_That makes sense. Draco's filtering the information he reads._

"What are you going to do?" she asked. "Has it given you something to consider... or, reconsider?" _I've been listening to Ron too much._

"Well, Umbridge being here got me thinking. The rest of the Hufflepuffs tell me that if I don't help them, I'm helping the Death Eaters. The thing is, the Slytherins are telling me that if I don't help them, I'm helping the Ministry. So if I don't help either of them, I'm helping them both at once and they can argue with each other if they don't agree. So I figure I'll try to see if the same thing that worked on me will work on my parents."

"Neville..."

"I know, everyone will keep badgering me, it's not going to change anything, but it's the only thing I really want to do. My parents would definitely know what I should do after that."

"Neville, do you know that Hannah was the one who came up with the idea for repairing your mind?"

The dark haired wizard blinked once or twice before speaking.

"No. I wasn't on the top of my game at the time." As he spoke there was a moment of visible movement from behind him. _If I'm right about this-_

"Excuse me, I must ask the three of you to leave." Their heads turned politely to Madam Pomfrey as she spoke. "Miss Abbott is expected to wake soon, and there will be potions to administer. Headmaster Snape was thoughtful enough to have them prepared in advance," she concluded, though the last sentence came out at a bit of a mutter. _Not everyone trusts him as much as Professor Dumbledore did. They must see loyalty to Professor Snape as loyalty to him.  
_

"Sorry, we'll be on our way," Hermione responded reflexively. _Let's see how long Neville has the door open. _The students of three different Houses made their way out the door, with the youngest Longbottom going out ahead to open it. As she passed through, she waited for him to close it, standing just beyond the doorway to prevent anyone else from coming through. He gave her an uncertain look and motioned for her to go ahead. "I really think you should close it, Neville, the patients need to be alone." He looked back as if expecting some kind of signal from something invisible.

"Oh, right, Hermione. I forgot," he managed, going out ahead of her, which he would be doing if he were trying to keep her from seeing his expression. _Perfect. Now let's see if he behaves any differently. _Hermione had little doubt that Hestia Jones, if of course she was correct, would rejoin them momentarily, but only if they walked away from the door. It appeared her friend reached the same conclusion, though his friend just stared at him, wearing an annoyed expression. "I just remembered I have something to write."

"That's fine, I was going to wait to see if I can hear her wake up," the Ravenclaw witch explained. _He won't allow me to trap his tutor in here. _"She used to visit you at Saint Mungo's, you know." _Well, just to make sure._

Neville responded with a grudging expression, muttering that he really did have twelve inches for Transfiguration, opening the door to have Hestia walk through it, completely visible.

"Were you using a Disillusionment Charm? I've read about it and apparently it takes talent," Hermione asked, noting the furrow in the older witch's brow. The Slytherin looked reasonably surprised, but said nothing. _There goes the secrecy of his insurance plan for Draco.  
_

"I was, since you asked so politely," the tutor answered. "Anything I don't want anyone to know, I don't tell anyone."

The brunette witch untangled the linguistic ambiguity. _That might be something Professor Dumbledore told her. He was not quite forthcoming with information. _

"Did you hear anything about Professor Dumbledore's plans?" Hermione asked, not hopeful for an answer she would like. _Goyle's right here, anyway. I really should not have asked._

"Sad as I am to see him go, that old warlock kept his lips sealed, he did. Knew a bit more than I did about near everything he asked me to do." She turned to the young wizard she was assigned to watch. "Let's be on, Longbottom. You've a tidy bit of writing, you do." It seemed the Slytherin would go with them, but a wave of the tutor's wand set him straight, freezing him in place a moment.

Left in the hall with Goyle, Hermione glared at him briefly.

"You carried him inside when he was passed out."

"I remember." _Oh, so you can talk._

"Why? Does Draco still need him for something?"

"Well, I wanted to keep looking for Malfoy. Crabbe said we'd already found Longbottom and we couldn't let the line end with him." _It was Crabbe's idea? Draco might have been in danger and you went after someone else? _"Any other questions, mudblood?"

"Draco might have had his soul sucked out by a dementor and you went for _anyone _else?"

"He understood. We looked for him and we found Longbottom."

"Where was he?"

"Can't say."

"So he was somewhere you wouldn't want me to know." _I doubt Crabbe is aware this logic does not really work.  
_

"Not really. He told me to never tell anyone where he is or was. I wouldn't tell you if he'd been talking to a teacher."

Moments passed and eventually she walked off, deciding he had been trained well enough to keep from revealing anything. _It appears Draco can even control for logical analysis. I suppose the same effect may be accomplished by telling them to lie no matter what, but that would be less effective if they never found out where he was, for example. _Hermione silently resolved to find Professor Flitwick, since he always knew what to do in these sorts of situations.

His office was more disorganized than the last time she had visited, but he was as overworked as everyone else, going back to his old lesson plans after Umbridge had rewritten them, deciding that students should stick to more professional charms. The Head of House Ravenclaw had always believed there was room for some logic in the curriculum, and took that upon himself in addition to the standard material, but when the Defense teacher had fifth years bringing up 'reverse causation' in response to logical errors in the text and pointing to the same instructor every time, she had to put her foot down.

"I must say, Miss Granger, I never rejoice in the death of another, and I continue to regret not being there when the werewolf attacked you, but I am most glad to have my curriculum back," he explained, an evident shake in his high pitched voice.

"What would you have done about the werewolf, sir?"

"There's an advanced charm that compels trees to grab things with their branches. It would have been a simple matter to apprehend your attacker without harming him. As to how I might have dealt with Professor Umbridge, I most likely would have reported her to the Minister for magically abusing students, and I would have had her wand out of her hand to prove it. How severely she would be punished I cannot say, but I doubt she would be rendered as harmless as the werewolf left her."

"I suppose so, Professor," she said, looking down somewhat.

"I see you have grown, Hermione." The idea caused her to look up. _Well, that and the use of my given name._ "The way you have spoken to me about werewolves and how they are treated suggested to me you might have seen this as poetic justice, had it happened a few months ago."

"I might have still, sir, had he not attacked Hannah." It was the wizard's turn to adopt a downcast expression.

"I see. There are better and worse ways of growing wise and it seems fate would have you learn ever in the worst of the worst. Werewolves are not evil, and yet they attack innocent people, regular heroines I might add. Like wild beasts they are indifferent to the people they kill."

"Well, if someone had to be killed, sir, Umbridge was the ideal candidate." _By that I mean that I would have picked her. _"I couldn't help Hannah, though. I couldn't stop the werewolf."

"Were you too intent on stopping him without hurting him? My dear, this is a task requiring far more skill and knowledge than killing him."

"I know, sir, I tried to produce a killing curse, but I failed." _I couldn't say this in front of Terry and Ron... Ron knows, but I couldn't say it. _"I couldn't use a killing curse because I didn't mean it. I said the incantation, waved my wand, and I didn't mean it. I couldn't hate him... He was innocent."

A moment passed in silence, though this was not for want of anything to say from the teacher. He intended to think for a moment and he thought.

"Miss Granger, I believe you are struggling on whether or not to feel guilty." _We're back to 'Miss Granger'. Please keep using that._

"I am!" she responded, instinctively looking around to see if anyone had seen her. "I _knew_ Hannah was innocent, and she was my friend. Yet I couldn't just... kill the werewolf, who might have been a bad man."

"Suppose you made the wrong decision, then. You did not kill when you should have. Under these circumstances, Hannah lives a cursed life, and you may still go after the werewolf who attacked her, a bad man should he prove to be." Professor Flitwick's voice raised on the last word, which might have amused her two years ago. "Suppose, however, you made the right decision, and he was a good man."

"I can't give myself any credit for that! I couldn't have killed him if I had wanted-" _Did I want to? How do I know?_

They stayed there for a minute. The old wizard was most likely allowing her time to think. _I can't be concerned with the reasons for my actions and their consequences at the same time. If my intentions make my actions bad, their consequences can't redeem them. I can't measure with two different yardsticks and expect the same result.  
_

At long last she asked him why he would have reported Umbridge rather than allow the werewolf to kill her before restraining him.

"I must admit, Miss Granger, part of me would like nothing more than to beat her at her own game; I was a professional duelist for years and I never quite grew out of the old competitive spirit. Truly, though, I must set an example for my students. Where there is a choice to kill or not to kill, you must choose not to kill. My colleague had committed crimes and I could prove that she belonged in Azkaban. Were it not for recent events, perhaps she would be there now..."

"Do you have that much faith in the Wizengamot?"

"By Merlin, no, my child, and yet to have law and order, to have rights and responsibility, one may not simply stop playing the game by its rules for the sake of killing one rule-breaker. Some understanding of reciprocity must exist, of course, but until things have entirely collapsed, it is better to attempt to repair them than ruin them, perhaps to replace them in the future, perhaps not." Waving his wand, he created illusions of light. "Suppose you have a train, yet one wheel is missing." A spectral wheel left the model on the desk for effect. "The train cannot run properly as it is, and yet despite the seriousness of the problem, the train is still ninety nine parts in one hundred functional. Fix the wheel if you can, or perhaps obtain a new one, but do not burn the train down for losing it."

"I see, sir," Hermione answered. "What happens now that Azkaban is destroyed, Professor Dumbledore is... gone, and Voldemort has his army back?" The half-goblin straightened in his desk, thinking a moment before waving his wand to remove several more pieces from the spectral train.

"Consider the train functional for about fifty parts in one hundred."


	29. Yellow Eyes in the Mirror

Hannah only heard about half the explanation Madam Pomfrey was giving her, but she could blame no one as she looked around the Hospital Wing. _What happened? Why am I here? _Looking down at herself, she was clearly not dead, but from how deeply she had slept, she had been close, though there were no apparent injuries.

"-the nice wizard I mentioned earlier will be here in about five minutes to explain your condition." A hasty movement of her hands revealed she was wearing a cloth gown, probably enchanted to keep her cool, as the summer was approaching outside. _Well, that or it could be enchanted to keep me from getting out of bed. _Finding her wand on the end table, she grabbed it for the immediate feeling of security. "Don't try transfiguring what you're wearing; he's a good gentleman and the first attempt never goes well. Your clothes are in the trunk," the Healer said with her back turned as she tended to another patient, a Slytherin witch she might have seen before. Tempted to use the color change charm on her own face to keep it from going red, she groaned as she waved the curtains closed and used the repair charm on the tatters of her uniform. She found that the fabrics fused together imprecisely. _No wonder so many magical people go for stitches. _

Sure that there was a housekeeping spell she just never learned that would immediately solve the issue, she dug through the trunk for the shirt and the shorts she had not been wearing at the time of the attack. _Looks like I get to go robe shopping with Susan again._

As she finished changing she waved away the curtains again, finding the witch in the adjacent bed was asleep. _She's Tracey Davis unless I'm imagining things again. _Walking over to the foot of her bed, a cursory look over the parchment confirmed her suspicions and informed her the girl only had a fragment of her soul destroyed by a dementor, stirring an odd sense of pity for the avowed blood purist. _Lucky bitch- a proper Hufflepuff wouldn't be feeling bad for her, she'd be switching out her potions for something nasty.  
_

"Miss Abbott?" She turned, setting the parchment back down.

"Oh, sorry, sir, I was just reading something. She's a good friend of mine, and I was concerned, see-" The wizard in simple brown robes smiled softly at her before taking a seat.

"You're not a good liar, Miss Abbott. You had no reason to be ashamed until you made one up," he said, almost like he was trying to teach her something. "It would have been better to say nothing, but in the future, try to imagine what the other person already knows. Use that information rather than new things."

"I think I can do that," she answered, sitting back on her own bed.

"That's good. You're going to have a lot of lying to do in the future." Her brow furrowed gently. "Miss Abbot, you were attacked by a werewolf while you were unconscious."

She stopped breathing, curling up into a ball with numb limbs. It was vaguely like the feeling of hearing glass being dropped on the kitchen floor.

"How-" she started. There was no response. "How do you know?" she asked, deciding he could not answer the question until she finished it. _There could still be some kind of mistake. _

"Your friend, Miss Granger, was fortunate enough to escape being attacked herself when teachers arrived. I am told they learned the Supreme Undersecretary was chasing you, and they decided that if they did not stop her, it was likely there would be deaths, and no amount of political pressure the Minister could put on the school would be worth suffering the death of a student. Miss Granger told them what happened as the werewolf was bound to a tree."

"Why didn't they kill it?!" she asked angrily, raising herself from the heap by her arms alone. _If they were- if they were trying to keep it alive rather than save me faster-  
_

"What, Miss Abbot, would that have accomplished?" the wizard asked quietly. "I imagine there were those who wanted to execute him on the spot, but fortunately for the creature, there was at least one person with the compassion to advise otherwise. The werewolf was simply a creature killing an invader in his territory, perceiving it as a threat to his life or prey, much like a lone wolf."

"Because then it wouldn't be able to attack anyone else! Did they let it go?" she asked, rising. _Where is it now? If it's still in the Forest- _The kindly man waved his wand and she sat down again.

"Hannah, would you prefer to die than live?" As the words left his lips she thought of Neville.

"I can't," she said at great length.

"Why is that? If the other werewolf, with no control of his actions, should die, why not you?"

"I can't give up on living." _I still have friends._

"I admire your resolve. Suppose the other werewolf does not want to die."

"That's fine- I'll kill it. What I cannot do is take the easy way out. Are there any ways to keep myself from harming people? Do I have to put myself in silver chains?"

"Professor Snape will be able to brew a potion that allows you full control over your actions while a werewolf. This is the most effective method I know to prevent harm to others. I used it myself for years. I ask you, what if the other lycanthrope were willing to do the same?"

"Why start now? He was content to run about in the Forest before," Hannah asked, mulling over the fact that the man before her shared her curse. _That's why they sent him to talk to me. He knows what it's like._

"There are many dangerous creatures in the Forbidden Forest, Miss Abbot. Wise children stay away from hags and werewolves alike."

"Well, there was a hag chasing me into the da-" She paused. "We wouldn't have gone in there if Umbridge hadn't been chasing us."

The kindly wizard waved away the notion.

"You should realize I am not blaming you, Miss Abbot. The werewolf's location prevented him from harming students for many years."

"Years?"

"He cursed his eyes, or someone else did it for him. Only when he was bound and calmed could the curse be removed."

Hannah did not ask why the werewolf had desired to remain as such; it seemed obvious. As a wild beast, the creature had no responsibility, no accountability; no one could fault it for anything. Instead she asked about something bubbling to the surface.

"So you're a werewolf?"

"I have been since I was a child. In those days I just had to isolate myself, though I never had the urge to harm anyone not human. From what little I can remember of being a beast, at some level the animals never seemed like a threat. Perhaps some fear of men has perpetuated itself in the bite of a werewolf, or perhaps the beast knows enough to avoid wands and silver bullets." He looked around a moment. "If I could talk with my bestial side, how it evaluates danger would not be the first question I would ask."

"Who bit you?"

"It was a very bad wizard by the name of Fenrir Greyback. He's an ally of the Death Eaters and I know for a fact that he places himself near innocent people on the night of the full moon."

"Do you wish he would die?"

"I wish all evil people would die or go to prison, but it seems one of those is no longer an option. Azkaban is in ruins."

"What happened?" she asked. "Will the werewolf die, then?"

"No, the werewolf will atone for his sins," The wizard sighed. "Miss Abbott, about a decade ago I lost everyone I had in the world. My parents were killed by Lord Voldemort, as were the last of my friends, or so I believed. It brings me shame to tell you this, but despair had me between suicide and wandering as a beast, lost in a wood where I knew no sane human being would ever venture."

_It doesn't really make a difference._

_It doesn't really matter who the werewolf was._

"They sent you here because-"

"I came here because I heard that I injured someone, and there was a strong possibility I bit you. Others will maintain I am not responsible for my beast form, but I know better. I could have restrained myself in the bottom of a well, or the inside of an impossible space. I would have died, eventually, but I would not have complained about that, nor would anyone else."

Hannah stared at the floor by the bed for a moment.

"That would have been the responsible thing, but Hermione and I would have died. No one could have predicted she would chase us in there, but once she caught us, we would have been killed- or worse." She paused. "Only a creature of the Forest could have saved us. Some of them would have killed all three of us." _At least Hermione came out of it okay._

For a moment nothing was said between the pair of them, but she looked up.

"What are you going to do, sir?"

"I offered to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, but the truth is I would be woefully unprepared. Professor Snape will be taking on that duty when not making decisions as Headmaster, and I have volunteered myself for the more mundane and time-consuming tasks associated with the post. I shall be available to help you with anything you need, Miss Abbott, and please understand that there is a life that remains for you to live."

The wizard who turned her into a werewolf walked out of the room without further note.

_Hermione wouldn't want him to come to any harm._

She rose from bed, finding her injuries had mostly healed, wondering who all knew about her 'condition'. It was well enough that the teachers knew, since she was going to have to get a potion from Snape, of all people. _That bastard had better not poison me. At least the werewolf will know who did it if he does._

"Excuse me, Madam Pomfrey, I'm leaving."

"That's quite alright, dear girl, there are seven other students in need of attention- first the dementors and now fights are breaking out everywhere. Can't anyone in this whole bloody school stay fixed up for five minutes? Is there a faction dedicated to that?"

Hannah walked out without answering the question. She did not particularly enjoy being guilt tripped about being injured and cursed, and only because other students were taking up the rest of the beds, but she doubted the Healer's heart was in it. _From the looks of it it's mostly first and second-years. I would think it's because they're the worst at defending themselves, but they're also the least likely to understand the factions and how to survive them.  
_

Something caught her attention as she looked up in the mirror in the girls' toilet, but she had a fair idea of why her eyes had changed to a pale yellow, and there was no reason to look long. _My eyes are cursed now. When I see the full moon, I transform._

Neville found her reading in the library. He was accompanied by one of the Slytherins, Crabbe, if memory served.

"Are you alright, Hannah?"

"I'm healing," she said quietly.

"I heard about what happened to you."

"I just want to catch up on work. It's fine, you don't have to say anything to me." _Like you don't have to apologize to me, least of all for the way you made me feel._

"You don't want me to look for a way to set you right again? I mean, I don't know if there's anything out there, but Sil- Malfoy might know."

Hannah had to remember to breathe. _It's not that special. It's not that special. He's just saying-_

"Are you really alright?"

"I'm alright. I mean, it's really considerate of you to go out of your way like that, and even if you don't find anything, I would really like to know if you do. I'm not looking forward to being a werewolf," she explained, if haltingly. _Crabbe already knows, or at least Malfoy already knows. Neville would never have brought it up otherwise._

"Oh, yeah, Crabbe, I forgot to mention that Hannah's a werewolf now."

"I remember and I believe Goyle told me."

The Longbottom heir responded with a slow, uncertain nod.

_He probably doesn't know I spoke with Malfoy to see what he was up to, especially valuable if he told me a different story from the one he told Neville. _Unfortunately it seemed her plan had failed in the sense that nothing that the Slytherin said to her stuck out as being different from what her friend remembered. If he were lying, he was a clever liar, which fit his general description. _Even Crabbe and Goyle know how not to give away secrets. They mostly accomplish this by not talking, but it works._

"Who all was expelled for helping Umbridge?" she asked, deciding Neville's bodyguard would probably know more about that than he did. _Of course, he could also be here to follow him around until he's in a secluded area..._

"They weren't expelled for helping her, but I think it was Warrington, Flint, Farley, Bole, Urquhart, and Carrow."_ I don't know all of those names, but they sound familiar._

"Wicked- Slytherin's going to be out of a team next year," the Hufflepuff wizard commented, probably referring to Quidditch.

"Why didn't she get any from our House?" the blonde witch asked.

"She was a purist and she was stupid," Crabbe started. "It helped her in the Wizengamot, but it meant the Hufflepuffs were only going to use her. Might be there are pure bloods in there, I don't know, but I think they have to prove they're not purists all the time. Doesn't work 'cause they'll be under suspicion 'till they're cold in the grave." He offered a mirthless laugh. _I'm guessing he heard that from Draco. He might even have picked up the idea that it was funny from him._

The conversation ended without further fanfare, as Hannah wondered what Dumbledore could possibly do to fix the situation. Apart from personally dueling Voldemort and ordering him to stand down, it seemed likely they would continue to have Death Eaters, and as little as she liked it, she had to admit the conspiracy in her own House and the Ministry overreach was really a reaction to them. If the blood purists and Dark Lord loyalists went away overnight, she doubted those in power would give up their positions, but the magical public would no longer have a quasi-terrorist threat looming over it. _Well, 'quasi' is being generous. They've already reduced a prison to rubble- and yet they say the only reason they exist is because the Ministry is sabotaging wizards and their chances of survival._

She had it out of Malfoy, if indirectly at times, the aims and rationales of the Death Eaters, or at least the blood purists, anyway. Perhaps he had an ounce of hope that he could recruit her, probably having heard of her dissatisfaction with the rest of her House, up until learning she would rather stick with Ron, Hermione, and Terry, as they were friends of hers.

"What?" he had asked, visibly confused. "Perhaps I should ask- who? Team Fence-Sitters? Team Neither? Granger and Weasley have no plan- and I haven't even heard of the other one. Very well, suppose they attempt to remove the overreaching Ministry or just be a thorn in their side- they can never succeed in that without allies, and they would rather fight us than help us."

"You have to kill Hermione. If I'm not mistaken, Ron's even higher up on the list," she remembered saying.

"We have to kill them because of the side they will inevitably take. There are only two sides, and former traitors and mudsnakes like Creevey are welcome on ours- something will have to be done about his parents, but he realizes this. We have extended the offer, but there is quite literally no way they will take it."

"You think I'm different?"

"You might be. You know what the conspirators are like." Something in the young wizard's voice belied an understanding of their exact nature. He had seen the 'mad Hufflepuffs' for himself, and decided he did not care for them. "Left to your own devices, what would you choose?"

She did not remember how she had answered, but it probably only cemented her as a bystander without whom the wizarding world would be better off, or an enemy, an actress contrary to the aims of blood purism. _Malfoy can say that Hermione's not going to die- or if she does it will only be because she refused to join the purists, but he's literally one out of thousands of them, and a boy without much influence at that.  
_

Presently, she found herself walking to the mysterious room, hoping to run into her friends when she found Zacharias on the stairs. Crabbe and Neville remained in the library, for reasons unknown to her.

"Hi, Hannah."

"Hi. Don't tell me you're staying now."

"I wish the Ministry the best of luck in subjugating the Death Eater rebellion. All the same, I shall not take part."

"Why don't you just get yourself expelled? Then they won't be looking for you. No one cares about you except as a student."

"I'm not one of the five idiots who would help Umbridge."_Five?_ "There are better ways to get out of the castle, like waiting for the term to expire. When I rejoin my confederates in the mangroves, I'll be the best practiced at most spells out of all of us. You're welcome to come if you like."

"Stick a mangrove up your arse, Smith," she muttered as she waked past him. _I need to find my real friends._

All the same, a thought would not leave her alone.

_Where have I heard that word before?_


	30. Burial at Sea

Hestia's death would not leave him alone.

Having learned of Umbridge's final actions, it made sense to turn her death into a disappearance or an expulsion, though one would be harder to track than the other. _It would be wiser to keep Avery in the dark- less honorable, but wiser. For that matter, it will also keep the school open.  
_

After a fire call to his old office at the Ministry, he found a fair percentage of the employees there already believed in the return of the Dark Lord, and the announcement that he was well and truly back would have to come sooner or later, though the circumstances of the death of Dumbledore would make it unfairly easier to publicly question everything he had espoused. In truth, the lack of an official statement regarding the return had initially been interpreted by much of the public as a refusal to talk about it until the facts were in order rather than a belief that the whole thing had been fraudulent, though as the Headmaster's reputation began to take a turn, people began to doubt the truth of his words all on their own.

With it established by the near destruction of Azkaban that the Ministry could not win a quiet war, Draco smirked at the thought of old Fudge having to change positions on the resurrection of the Lord Voldemort, who had never once been wrong about anything. _Well, not factually- he has done things that the Death Eaters of course do not condone. _The feeling did not last long, as he remembered how little the Dark Lord wanted an open war, and how great his displeasure would be if this had come as a failing of any one of his loyal followers. _There's a chance we can pin this on Avery- he was there, anyway._

Fortunately for the rest of them, the wizard had not died in the encounter, having avoided the duel between the ancient dark wizard and the old fool by focusing on freeing Aunt Bellatrix. _Unfortunately, it looks like she made it out alive. At least we can still question Avery-_

Draco nearly tripped over Zabini, lost in thought as he was, going from his Charms exam to his Potions practical.

"Watch where you're going, ponce," the darker Slytherin muttered.

"Perhaps you should watch what you say." _There is no time to cross wands here._

"I'll say as I please, I'm afraid. I doubt you got any of those bruises from someone who likes you." Draco scowled, but he said nothing more. Apart from going to the Hospital Wing, which was full anyway, his recourses for healing himself were limited to the spells he had set Crabbe and Goyle to learning, and something was off about the latter. Loath though he was to go about with bruises, the last thing he wanted to do was explain how he got them. _To think those blood traitors had tried to keep them from showing- even Crabbe's father knows how to hit someone without leaving a mark.  
_

Walking into the Potions practical, he had no expectation Professor Snape would be making things easy for him. In truth, he never had. Though he rarely assigned penalties to Slytherins for behavioral infractions and was somewhat liberal in giving them to Gryffindors, the grading was just as harsh on both sides. _This exam will be no different, unless it is even harder._

He started with the Antidote to Common Poisons, informally called the Anision, crushing a bezoar magically with his mortar and pestle he charmed earlier that year. The students would be brewing this solution without the benefit of the instructions, and they were required to transfigure the liquid into something solid and edible. _It serves as a qualifier the instructor can arbitrarily decide. _Draco had a vision of the hook nose of the teacher curling before he drawled 'no, Weasely, I specifically required an _edible _solid form, and nowhere did I specify a Red Cap would be eating it'.

Draco's solution turned out well enough, though he doubted he would be tested by being poisoned; even as little as Professor Snape liked him, he knew better than to kill the heir of House Malfoy, even by his own folly. Turning liquids solid was a simple enough matter in itself, and he could presume it would still be edible, so he froze the solution by levitating it out of its container and casting an ice charm. _A sixth-year may have preferred to banish it from all sides, though there will always be some areas in which I do not specialize.  
_

As perhaps he should have expected, not all went well, since some of his crystal phials had been nicked. _I need not be reminded I no longer command the respect of Slytherin House- enough of them have heard it from their parents that I was responsible for the investigation into the Manor, which might have compromised the Death Eaters entirely._

He at last got out of the exam, resolving to check his mail before doing a final review of material for Transfiguration, or Defense Against the Dark Arts, whoever was supposed to administer it.

In the dormitory he found the owl had brought a letter during the day, unusual though that was. Disappointed it was not penned by Evan as a thanks for his assistance, he found his father was insisting upon his presence as soon as his exams concluded. _If I were being punished, it would not have waited. Well, I can be reasonably sure it would not have waited.  
_

"Crabbe, tell Goyle we have a meeting to attend." As he spoke he deigned to look over to his henchmen, finding one of them standing, another lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. "It appears I neglected to address you, Goyle. You were not where I expected to see you."

The scowling wizard did not respond.

Deciding he had little enough time left to reach the room for his next assessment, let alone study for it, he set off without giving the hand signal for his henchmen to follow him. _I should have had them with me when I returned to the castle after the incident with the Carrow girls- well, the one that remains. Instead I sent them ahead of me, and my plan failed only for Professor Snape's malice. Had he intended to catch all rule-breakers, I would at least know when they neglected to call me. When he let them pass, I assumed it was safe for me as well._

In Transfiguration he had to turn a living bird into a book about birds, then back again. This was difficult, but not basically impossible. The books the students produced in the transfiguration were usually a good indicator of the information gained during the process of deconstruction and how well they understood the natures and properties of birds as a third level transfigurable animal, and skimming them would reliably predict the resulting bird. Crabbe managed to produce a bird, but it was dead, and looked little enough like the original, but it was likely he would be awarded a passing grade. Goyle turned the bird into ashes, then the ashes into a book about ashes, then the book into ashes, then the ashes into a dead bird. It required more steps than Crabbe's demonstration, but for some reason McGonagall's criticism came out in a softer voice.

The exam ended with his performance, without flaws or inspiration though it was.

Informing his associates they were to continue studying rather than follow him to Selwyn Estate, given that they would only make things slightly worse if he were walking into a trap, he walked out of the castle as the sun was sinking in the sky, finding Gibbon just outside the gate. It would not be his first adventure with Side-Along Apparation, but it would not be pleasant all the same.

"Good to see you again, young Master Malfoy." Draco remembered the wizard was new money. It was a trifle to get things from him, as he came from a world of buying and selling, where never was there a duel to decide a wedding, nor an art gallery to attend for any reason other than seek out vibrant colors and decorate one's walls. To be new money was to be a poseur of the old, to adopt the customs and abilities to hopefully pass. _As Death Eaters we welcome pure bloods from all manners of backgrounds, as it is never a bad idea to have their support, yet he would do well to remember he will not enter our class in the process. He will play the game our as ancestors before us, that his descendants can one day be an Ancient House, and honor him as their founder.  
_

"Out of the portraiture at Selwyn Estate, which do you find best captures the spirit of the dwelling?" he asked as the wizard reached to take his arm.

"I believe _Naiads on the Adriatic _has the highest market value. It distinguishes Lord Selwyn as a wealthy wizard, and his House one of culture, being able to spend on such frivolities."

Draco only half-concealed his scoff, so great was his displeasure. _The audacity to even use the word frivolities-_

They arrived at the property immediately as always, though only one of them found himself sucking in air, doing his best to disguise his inexperience. _I should remember my place. Unable to even Apparate, I was being foolish last year, thinking there was a chance I would be recognized as a true Death Eater. _Sobered by the thought that even the likes of Gibbon and Carrow being more magically capable than he, the young Slytherin began to wonder what he would have to do in the next few years to in any way accelerate the pace of his induction. _The Dark Lord started the Knights of Walpurgis when he was in either fifth or sixth year, and as such I imagine it would not be impossible for me within the next two years, barring of course death and other career-ending mistakes.  
_

The tangent about Amycus, and possibly his late sister, made him think of the wizard's loss as he passed through the circular gate, entering the fountain garden, complete with no fewer than forty nine jets of water in the central pool, though unlike the rather unimaginative display at Versailles, the water formed a sphere as it spiraled down from its apex back down to the brilliant green of the pool, the color darkening with the sky. _It would be remiss of propriety not to have a burial for Hestia, really. Perhaps her final resting place was chosen by the circumstances, but such is the case from time to time in the war for the preservation of magic. Amycus was fortunate to have twins, that his old line will continue uninterrupted by the loss of one daughter. If it would suit him, fain would I marry the witch myself.  
_

He thought better of it, deciding she likely hated him.

The Selwyn house had not been content with stone and mortar for the walls of the residence, instead the builders had employed living trees, great oaks of Jupiter that stood one by the other, as Roman soldiers in _testudo_ formation, that naught could be seen of the inside. Narrower trunks wound themselves in spirals around the windows, each pane a single diamond- transfigured, he knew, but unlikely to break in the next thousand years of augureys crashing into them. _The only thing thicker than the wood is the enchantments. I can almost feel them already._

The interior could be visually explored as he was apprised of what he already knew, that he was to show no sign of disobedience under the grace of the Dark Lord, no sign of disrespect to anyone, the usual arrangement. _The only reason he leaves out mentioning Amycus and his daughter is because he remains afraid they can hear us._

They entered without unexpected fanfare.

As he had anticipated, his lord father was the first to speak, and the subject was finances. With the investigation into the Malfoy properties, the incomes from the rustic wizards was limited, and some of the investments had soured rather than maturing. Worse yet, there were expenses implicit in Death Eater activities, since some of their numbers had occupations as their main or entire source of income, vexed though he was at the very idea of it. _We need their service. The wizarding world is in their debt._

He had hoped for years that after the final victory, they would be able to log everything the blood purists had done, that every necessary effort they had undertaken would be vindicated before the public of Britain and the world entire. This would be after the death or imprisonment of the Dark Lord, of course, as really he was too dangerous for the magical world to leave alive, and it was possible he had outlived his usefulness. It had been his idea, of course, to resurrect Ekrizdis, as Draco had recently learned, but Voldemort regarded the ancient dark wizard as an equal, or something close enough, and had intended to work with him on pushing the boundaries of magic; the combative advantage he presented was an afterthought. _With Dumbledore dead, the combative advantage Lord Voldemort presents is almost an afterthought._

It was never as if the old fool were an unbeatable threat; anyone could die; that was a fact that their master had made plain enough. There had been many plans after the Halloween night to kill Dumbledore, but ever due to some unforeseen circumstance, he always seemed to survive, then act like nothing had happened. Outliving him, as obvious as it might have sounded, was not a viable option, not only because every plan to get the magical population back straight again was time-sensitive and he undermined all of them, but because he had already lived an unreasonably long time, even for a powerful wizard, and there was no indication he was on death's door. Plots to directly assassinate him were difficult to implement without going to Hogwarts or the International Confederation of Wizards, the only circumstances under which he could be expected to appear with any reliability, and public settings presented even more of a challenge. Even if they killed him, their plan would be exposed, and quite a few Death Eaters would die in the process, ending or severely hindering the lines that had escaped imprisonment. Plans, therefore, were proposed and rejected frequently in something of a perfectionist's dilemma. Even though they knew they had to select something and implement it, the expected cost was consistently significant and it always seemed like a better plan could be formulated. Slytherins had a tendency to not want to risk their own necks when other options were available, and the usual response to most proposals was an insistence that a foolproof plan should be spearheaded by him who invented it.

As if to answer his heart's desire, the topic of discussion, as Gibbon informed him, was the _untimely _disappearance of the Carrow sisters. _Father and the others are going against the Dark Lord- The time has come to test loyalties._

"Amycus, you meet with us as the proxy of the Dark Lord, and for this we are grateful," Lord Selwyn started. _It is his property, after all. _"For too long a time have we languished without his wisdom, only in pieces have we learned his designs, and a change is agreed to be in order."

There was some note of agreement. _I suppose fortune favors the bold, from time to time, though fortune never seems to murder the non-committal._

"Thank you, Lord Selwyn. I shall do my best to relay our master's message literally while capturing his intent," the large wizard muttered, as though he had rehearsed it or been told to say as much. "You have all disappointed me."

There was a notable pause. The blood purists at the least were not so deaf as to misunderstand what he meant; it was rather plain to most of them that Ekrizdis was meant to stay alive. _I only wish I had learned of the plan sooner._

"Please, continue," a voice invited.

"There was nothing more, nothing other than whispers. He is now contemplating killing all of you. I believe he used the word 'purge'." Amycus said simply. "He wrote on a sheet of parchment, crossed it out, and incinerated it." It took no brilliant mind to discern that the Lord Voldemort was decidedly upset at the most likely eternal loss of a potential partner. _This is, of course, to say nothing of the moon._

It had escaped the attention of the public in the wake of Albus Dumbledore's death and the destruction of Azkaban, but the muggles were taking a turn in being perceptive. Apparently the reduction of the natural satellite to rubble would cause something of an astronomic event, and the tides would be nearly disappearing. There were other effects, to be sure, the skies would be darker and every day would have a constant length, meaning every day would be twenty four hours for eternity, and the axial tilt would be unstable, causing the occasional ice age, but apart from that he was certain no one would ever notice.

_This is easily the most damage a single wizard has ever done to Secrecy. _His fist clenched, but he knew better than to grab his wand.

"We are aware of the reason for the Dark Lord's displeasure," his own father started. "Perhaps, though, the severity of the response-"

"The Lord Voldemort knows you have your own goals and no further use for him. If he would have followers, he would have followers who will obey his orders to the letter, and serve him for the sake of service to the Dark Lord alone. He is now the most powerful wizard in the world and he will have an army, or he will have ashes."


	31. Retreat

_I guess I've got another summer of bloody reading to do. I guess I could practice against Fred and George, if they're ever home. They'd need to take a break from working on that catalog to sell their prank stuff._

Ron found himself across from Hermione in a compartment in the train. He expected her exams had gone perfectly as always, but he doubted he made E's in most things. _They'll probably toss our notes from Umbridge, soon as they decide she shouldn't have been teaching us. Then they'll probably toss the rest of them, Dumbledore being dead and all._

It was possible the reality had not hit him until after the funeral, which was scheduled after the very last exam. _Can't even die properly if it gets in the way of education. _The sky had been dark and the rain held aloft by shielding, though he wished the teachers would have let it fall.

Snape had been the very last to speak, a tradition among Headmasters of Hogwarts for centuries, according to Hermione. Where previous friends and admirers from the academic world had lauded his achievements in various languages, the former Potions master confined himself to the facts, and essentially only explained what happened in the final hour of his former employer's life, perhaps seeing that as the best way of criticizing him. The Ravenclaw witch next to him at the time told Ron he was half right in his supposition. In her view, the new Headmaster chose that moment as the best possible reference for Dumbledore's character.

He wondered if that was a rule of some sort, that the moments before death indicated who a person really was.

Sitting in the compartment in the train, it did not appear his death was any way imminent, but he had been wrong about that general sort of thing before. _Guess I'd better act like I want people to remember me all the time. _It appeared Hermione had fallen asleep, lying down on the seat opposite him, her hair going to the floor.

_Never know when I might die._

"I guess she's alright," he muttered, almost at a whisper, looking at the sleeping witch with whom he shared a compartment. In a matter of hours they would be back in their homes, though Hermione would have a time and a half lying to her parents about all that had happened. _I reckon I told her this at least once, but it's really heroic of her to stay in this madhouse of a world we've made for ourselves. I guess she's one of us, though._

It was the words of Zabini that he heard again in his mind as he stared at her, having already tried to do the smart thing and flee. As near as he had figured from what little she explained, she stayed because she felt like she had to fight. There was a Muggle Studies teacher named Kirkland Hart, a wizard Ron had never met, who died while she was unconscious, and that was intolerable to her, for reasons she would likely never tell him. _She told me a fair few, though._

It was impossible to do the smart thing and fight evil, injustice, or whatever it was that he was fighting. He was going to do his best not to be an idiot, at least not more of one than he had been so far, but there would always be a more practical option available to him, and that would involve joining Ginny- wherever she was hiding. It occurred to him in his months of going through her old things and trying to get information out of people that he barely knew his sister at all, and when he saw her after she was found, it would be meeting her for the first time. In his knowledge that she held no hope for Hogwarts, he would be seeing her as she truly was, and he could not bring himself to fault even her for attempting to flee, even with Harper of all people. She had not even started school when Voldemort returned to life, and it was possible she decided she would leave the older generation to the punishment of its own design. _Even if she agreed to it, Goldstein and Harper probably had something to do with her decision- not to mention that bastard Smith._

He remembered Hannah had told him there were mangroves where they were hiding, but that could mean anything. _Clever- meant to make it look like he was trusting her with a bit of information, but it really wasn't worth much._

As much as he might have liked to spitefully contemplate Smith's insistence on doing things the smart way, he thought more of Hannah herself. Some time in one of his last few classes, Terry told him there was a reasonable chance she liked him, and he was not one to muddle probabilities. It was a funny thought, but he supposed it made sense in a way, seeing how she acted. He remembered asking the Ravenclaw how he knew.

"Well, she essentially told me. I don't want to repeat what she said- and that's only because there was something in there about someone else, but I thought you ought to know."

"That's right decent of you," the Gryffindor had said. "Really wish I had something like that to tell you." _Well, I don't know if I'll tell him about that first-year in Slytherin-_

"I wish you did as well." Ron looked back at his notes and scratched a final few details. "Do you fancy her?" Terry asked as they got out of class. _Bit of a straightforward question to follow up an inane comment._

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it," he answered honestly, though perhaps in a disappointing manner. "I mean I don't _really_\- concern myself with girls."

"Oh," Terry responded, his eyes widening. "No, no, I don't think anything of it, that's quite alright- perfect, even- well, you should tell Hannah you're not interested in her; I would think she would want to know, else she'll feel like a fool," he explained, rambling somewhat. _That's not really like him._

"Well, I reckon I'll get around to it if I see her on the train," he had said, not thinking about it at the time.

In the compartment, however, it was the only thing on his mind.

_At least she's not here right now. I guess I could send her a letter after I've figured what I'm going to write._

"Ron?" her voice asked as she opened the door. _Bloody hell, I should've latched it at least. _"Is she asleep?"

"She might be." _I don't know how I want to answer that question. _"I mean, I don't want to wake her if she is."

"Oh. I see. Can we talk?"

"I reckon so," he murmured, looking out the window. Perhaps less than surprisingly, there was no one there.

"Before you say anything, I talked to Terry a few days ago. I've been in the library because I'm going to be away from it all summer, and he was in there talking to one of the Patil girls." _Can't tell 'em apart either, just that one's attached herself to Dean, and the other to Malfoy. I really hope they don't hate each other. _"I took a break from reading and he told me about... well, everything that happened while I was unconscious."

"You know you're a-"

"I know. I don't want to talk about it."

Nothing was said for a moment.

"Tell you anything useful, then?"

"I'm sure you would know about it already." _She was just saying she was up to speed, then._

"Well, did you have anything to tell him?" Ron asked, seeing something of an opportunity.

"I wish I did, but I can't imagine how it would have done him as much good as he let on... well, unless-"

"What?"

"I mean, this is a bit silly, but I told him I realized I was a bit envious of Hermione. I didn't really know what it was for a while, but it felt good to figure it out."

Ron thought it did sound silly, but most witches confused him with the exception of the sleeping one across from him, and she mostly confused him with Astronomy and Ancient Runes, to say nothing of Muggle technologies. It was a change of pace, at the very least.

"Why were you jealous of her?" he asked, deciding it was an obvious enough question she would not discern he had heard the other end of it. _Well, this is Hannah. She might just have a lucky guess._

"I'd rather not say-"

"I mean, she's the one who's sleeping now because she's got red eyes and reading on a train for too long will make it worse. I didn't think anyone envied her. Well, I guess she's not a werewolf, so she's got that going for her." His brief annoyance subsided almost as quickly as it rose.

"No, no, it's got nothing to do with all that- I mean if anything I should envy everyone now, but I was talking about before..."

"Never mind, it's not that important," Ron decided. _Terry said it had to do with some chance of her liking me. Well, if she liked me, she'd have told me what it was. _"I probably shouldn't be asking anyway."

They sat there in silence for a moment.

_Probably mucked something up again. I'm no good with this sort of thing. I mean, there's a fair bit I'm no good with- well, nothing where I was particularly trying. _

"Are you alright?"

"What?" he asked, not knowing how else to react to the sudden question.

"Hermione told me some of the pure families are likely to be afraid of werewolves," the blonde witch explained. "I didn't think you would... change anything about the way you see me, but I thought I would ask. If someone close to me were, well, afflicted, I would want to be asked." _I counted about a million and a half loaded questions in there._

"Hannah, Terry told me he had some idea you like me," Ron said, watching her face go white as she held up a pair of shaking hands.

"It's not- I mean you're a perfect- please don't misunderstand, there are so many ways to take this-"

"I mean, what did you tell him?" he asked, interrupting.

"-please just take it in the best possible way, but it's not like that-" she continued as though she had not heard.

"Hannah, please."

"Right." She paused, looking down again. "Sorry." The Hufflepuff witch cleared her throat. "I told her I was sorry I had said she wouldn't be a good mother." At his confused expression she continued. "That was a while ago, you weren't there." He nodded, eyes looking down the bridge of his long nose. "Anyway, she said it hurt her feelings more than she thought it would, and then that she could be hurt by something like that bothered her, so she never said anything about it."

"I see." _Witches ought to get at least three x's on the danger rating for magical creatures. Almost makes you wonder why Hagrid's never been married._

"Anyway, I told her I realized sometime this year I started thinking I was seeing something in you, but then I realized I was just jealous of what she had... in you." Ron had no idea what sort of expression he was making. "I mean... I imagine you make her feel special." Hannah's face was red, but looking away at Hermione did him precisely no good, seeing as she had shifted on the seat across from them, turning her face into the seat. _Merlin, no, please-_

"That's certainly possible," he said, entirely too quickly to be believed. _How long has she been awake? Is she awake?_

"Thank you, Ron, it feels better to get that out in the open. I can see how Terry went to that conclusion, since I told him I wish Neville would be a bit more like you sometimes. Well, I probably shouldn't be that critical. He told me once that he might have been brave, had he grown into it. His father met a young man named James Potter, so Lady Longbottom told me, and they weren't friends, but he was a bit inspired. It makes you wonder how all these things can just turn out differently just like that."

"What do you mean?" _If Hermione's still awake, she'd want me to at least change the subject._

"Well, it's just that everyone expected that Neville would be in Gryffindor, like his father, but he just didn't end up there." _Is she trying to say this is my fault? He probably told her I said he'd be a better fit for Hufflepuff. _"It's probably for the best, since I never would have been next to him in Herbology otherwise." _Guess she's not really covering up liking him._

"It's all dandy that I know about it, then?"

"I decided I could tell you. You know I'm a werewolf, so you can know I have feelings for Neville." _Reckon I should have seen that coming. I guess one's really nothing compared to the other._

"Reckon you might be right, getting it out there. Prob'ly some people who think they've got all the time in the world." _The thing is, you never know when you're going to die._

_It's true. I just can't say it to her. I can't say it to either of them._

He waited for a response until he decided Hannah was just going to leave it there, considering she was getting out her pad of paper. _Can't find something like that at Diagon Alley- must have brought it with her. _

The witch across from the pair of them rose as he was doing his best not to look at whatever the blonde was writing or drawing. She yawned, perhaps for effect. _I really hope she was asleep. She still might have been._

"How long have I been out?" Hermione asked.

"You were asleep when I came in," Hannah answered. "Oh. You wanted Ron to answer that. Sorry."

"I reckon it was about two hours," he decided, seeing the Ravenclaw's face go a bit red at the Hufflepuff's interpretation. _I mean, there's nothing wrong with wanting someone to watch you sleep, 'specially when you've got as many targets on your arse as Hermione. Feels like we're doing something stupid, going back home to different places. I've got my brothers and they've got some- some benefit in that no one knows who they are. _"How are you going to keep the Death Eaters off your trail?" he asked all of a sudden.

"More wards, essentially," Hermione answered. "I was up all night drawing the same on Hannah, then reading after she fell asleep." Ron shifted his posture, resting an ankle on his knee.

"I see," he responded, perhaps paradoxically. _'cause I know damn well those wards are written somewhere I can't see._ "Well, it's good that one of us got some sleep." _Reckon Hannah understands the wards at this point. She did want to learn about them._

"Did you get any Wolfsbane potion?" the brunette witch asked.

"It doesn't last long," the blonde witch said, casting her eyes down a moment. "Re- well, Professor Lupin, now, I suppose- he gave me a silver chain that should work well enough, as long as I can explain it to my mother." _I guess they're giving him the title if he's going to work twice as hard as one. _The Gryffindor had heard about the hiring of the undercover werewolf from Terry, who seemed to have been a regular font of information lately. _He's not going to stop there, of course. He's going down to South America on an apprenticeship with an old friend of Dumbledore's. Don't reckon that'll last._

"Well, she hasn't really much of a choice, does she?" Hermione asked. "I mean, taking you out of school or something is only going to put you further from people who can help you." _It'll also make you more likely to harm others, but I suppose there's no need to remind her of that, is there?_

"Yes, but I don't think she'll like me coming home and telling her I'm going to have to chain myself up once a month and she doesn't really have a choice in the matter. I haven't been lying to her, but I definitely haven't told her I'm..."

"Well, best to get that out of the way before the first full moon."

Hermione glared at him.

"What? Am I wrong?"

She sighed, shaking her head a moment.

"What are you going to be doing this summer?" the witch across from him asked. "Where you live, you can do magic and get away with it."

"Don't go assuming I forgot," he responded, perhaps intentionally picking on a sore spot of hers. "I'll be practicing dueling with the twins, but I know I'm not going to kill any Death Eaters like that. At some point I realized all I can really do worth a damn is-"

"-strategy," the bushy haired witch filled in for him. "Have you read _The Art of War_? I've heard it's something of a classic."

"Clever." _Even I know what that book is. It's got to be at least three thousand years old. _"There are a lot of things I don't know. I don't know if I can get the twins to help me. I don't know how much better I'll be than if I just stuck to more spells, but I've got to learn how to be a step ahead for a change. If one thing's certain, Hermione, I'm not going to learn it out of a book."

The train stopped and the three of them collected their things. A long summer awaited them, rife though its calendars already were with promises to write.


	32. Epilogue: Durmstrang

It was not the first time he had been sent to the Headmaster's office for disciplinary reasons, but he could not remember another time he had been as scared as he was, waiting in an old wooden chair with scratches in the arm rests. His eyes were not the best, visual impairments had been an early development in his childhood, but he found his other senses compensated well enough.

The other boy, sitting in another chair, brought in for another offence, the offence of resisting, of defending himself, had said nothing between the time Ioseb attacked him and the present. He had long, black hair and he wore brown robes from a world away, whenever not in his uniform. The Georgian boy hated that about the foreigner. Durmstrang accepted all students from all over the world, each presumed to bring with him new secrets of magic, but there were those who were wanted and those who only wanted.

"Why is it you always seem to find trouble?" the Headmaster asked as he walked in from behind them, closing the carved wooden door with a wave of his hand. _Why is he speaking English? It's for the outsider again, isn't it?_

"I believe the problem is his lack of a mother," Dr. Jodorowski answered, appearing only as the doors closed. _How long has she been here? _"He lacks guidance. Without the punishment his father represents-"

"Yes, yes, perhaps, perhaps-" the Headmaster answered with a wave of the hand, though not to cast any spell. "I have no similar questions regarding the spare, nor any interest in learning their answers. I have seen young wizards of his nature before, and none of them matter to me. Give him whatever standard punishment we have for dueling senselessly and put him back wherever you found him," Karkaroff decided, again unnecessarily speaking in English.

"It was the very matter of punishment about which I had hoped to inquire," the instructor said, approaching his desk with some sense of purpose. "I had hoped to expand to alternative methods," she explained.

"What thought has crept into your head that the punishments will not proceed exactly as I have said before?" the Headmaster asked, perhaps accusing her of subversion. Without realizing it, Ioseb had dug his own nails into the wood of the armrests.

"Two years ago, you asked me to seek out methods more effective in curtailing the passions of young men like these." As she spoke, the Durmstrang student quickly turned his head to her superior, seeking any change in expression to find only a furrowing of his thick eyebrows.

"Any request I may have made so long ago is forgotten, Nadezhda, and long since irrelevant," he explained, not looking up.

"Perhaps, then, if we are to change things as recently as two years ago, we should also change the punishments of the previous Headmaster," the instructor reasoned. _Whatever she has planned, I don't like it. I'll take the lashing curse. I'll take real lashes. I understand those._

"What do you have in mind?" the other boy asked. _Of course you would take an interest. I hate you. You don't even have a proper name._

"This is not your matter, boy. Your pitiful father did not send you here to take up space in my office. You will help me with my research or you will vacate from my presence." Karkaroff had taken on a tone that was not to be disobeyed. _He has always spoken with this expectation. His English was just worse last year._

Ioseb let out a long breath as he imagined what manner of awful punishment awaited him if Dr. Jodorowski had her way, probably something he would not even understand. She had made a pair of boys fight each other, naked, without wands, in the snow- _was it meant to get them to stop fighting? Why did the winner get away without further punishment?_

Perhaps his guilty conscious was what took him back to the event itself, though he doubted it.

He was closer to the girls' tower than most young men dared go, but that was where his target was. Having seen the school from the outside, he knew not whether the girls' tower was the tall red one with the green dome or the white one with the gold dome, and he might never know, since none of the bases could be seen from the ground, what with the high, thick wall of white stone that surrounded the enormous fortress, though that alone would be the wrong word for it. Durmstrang was a palace, a cathedral, a fortified complex where spies came to roost, and if he had been awake in the right part of History, an old tsar's house where the peasants would bring the crops in. _Doesn't matter. Today it's a school, and today, I'm going to put Evan in the moat._

The target was alone, as usual. _Boys with friends tend to make less enemies. They're also a bit harder to silence. _Dueling was strictly forbidden at the massive institution, though it took place all the same, with the students finding ways to avoid getting caught. Ioseb had heard the argument that it would be safer if it were permitted and overseen, but he scoffed at the idea. _They can't pretend to offer us an alternative if it's not as fun._

His first curse erupted from his wand while the target's back was turned, reading a book by the moat before the wall. As flying was strictly controlled, he doubted the boy could save himself with a rolled up Persian, if he had one, but it appeared a green shield was sufficient. _Foreign magic- at least the outsiders are fun to fight. _Evan responded with a slash through the air, which Ioseb destroyed in flight, reducing the spellfire to a red glow. He cast an ice charm at the ground, a common trick at home to make one's opponent slip, something he expected the foreigner would not be able to block. Again unfortunately, it seemed the other boy had a counter, a curse he had to leap to dodge. He had heard the dark curses before and he knew to dodge them, his weak eyes seeing only a blue-black haze as it passed by him. Ioseb hit him with a Chinese fire arrow as he hit the ground, forcing Evan to move, to slip, to fall into the moat.

The trouble was, he had dragged the fight on long enough to attract the attention of Dr. Jodorowski, the mind arts teacher.

It would have been a simple matter for her to raise the target out of the moat, though that effort appeared completely unnecessary, since he managed to climb out, which escaped his attacker entirely. _The surface was perfectly flat. He could not have climbed out. Flying is also controlled. The warding protects us from aerial assault. _The school did not have a Quidditch team, so there was no need to practice flying. The general consensus was that only the Americans would put sport over learning, as they had in the past.

The instructor dragged them through the twisting halls, the spiraling corridors to the Headmaster's office, berating them all the way, though they knew better than to listen. There was a picture of health in the books the Healers had them read. They knew how to tell if something was wrong with them, they understood why their ailments were bad, and they knew how to tell if the Healers were lying, which was consequently unlikely. In the books on the mind arts, there was no picture of a healthy mind. The boys were not to think little of themselves; they were not to think much of themselves. They were to be happy, but the things that made them happy were all wrong. They were not to be limited by the expectations of others, but the books carried a litany of expectations that at least seemed contradictory.

The Headmaster stopped the discussion for a fire call, changing to French to speak to someone in what might have been a parliamentary building, though Ioseb had no idea what they were saying. _He would not have stopped this for nothing. Of late he seems less interested in disciplinary measures than before, but running the school seems to be a priority for him. _It was not the type of thing that would usually concern the young Durmstrang student, but he had little else to occupy his mind at that very moment, and no wish at all to spend so much as another second thinking of the boy who could talk to snakes.

"Dr. Jodorowski, leave us," Karkaroff ordered without emphasis, staring between the two students, as if suddenly having an idea. "The pair of you will require a special punishment, one that has only been made known now. No meaningless academic trifle will do for you."

"I didn't do anything, sir!" Evan objected. _You fool. You never object to the Headmaster's whims. _At the flicker of a wand, a spell formed in a color Ioseb could not quite make out, freezing the boy in place but for a tear running down his cheek. _He's in pain. Good._

"Your errors have nearly exposed you, silly boy. It is not every day a student transfers here from Hogwarts, with so many accommodations made." He waved his wand again. "Perhaps they made you stand out, a target for the jealous minds of the unambitious, but I expected more from the Heir of Slytherin. Avoiding trouble should have been entirely too easy for you."

"Yes, sir, it's my fault, sir."

"At the very least I expected you to have a small following, as the legend of Lord Slytherin is unknown here," the older wizard continued, ignoring the boy's senseless groveling. "I would have been pleasantly surprised had you managed to take control of the illegal dueling. Are you a pure blood?"

"Half, sir."

"No matter. Have you any ancestors of note? Perhaps there is some ancient magic in your line."

"I don't know much about my family." _At least he knows better than to lie. _"I have some secrets I managed to steal out of the Chamber."

"At Hogwarts? I have been there myself. If you have managed to glean some insignificant bit of information I have not already seen or extrapolated from what I discovered, I shall make note of it, but nothing more."

"But... sir... only the Heir of Slytherin is supposed to be able to enter the Chamber." _Heir of what? What chamber?_

"He and apparently anyone else who can speak Parseltongue, apparently," Karkaroff said, his eyes glowering momentarily. _There we are- now that is a familiar expression. _"Fortunate indeed, are you to be given such a light act of penance. You will be of use to me next year." He looked a moment at Evan before waving a hand. "Tell Dr. Jodorowski she may stop listening from behind the door."

Fear revealed itself in the boy's eyes, trapped in the mire of an impossible choice, and for a moment Ioseb pitied him, not knowing which sadistic adult to anger. Fortunately for him, the mind arts teacher came in without being invited by any student, and the boy took the opportunity to leave. _Very well. I have scared him shitless. Now I am going to be expelled, but no matter. I can find work. _Being expelled from Durmstrang was no great dishonor, nor was it a rare occurrence. One might thing might have to do with the other, but he cared not to puzzle it out.

"Your task, Brdzola, is more likely to kill you. You will keep Evan alive by whatever meager means you can manage, until he succeeds or you die, whichever fate befalls you first," the Headmaster explained, taking note of the instructor's approval at his suffering, being forced to help an outsider. _The moment he succeeds he will die. _"Forget your foolish planning, boy. Carry out what I have ordained; go to your fate without complaint or I shall know."

The threat was palpable and the student nodded without question.

"Ah, our problem child has yet again agreed to a task without knowing what it is. You show a distinctly irrational lack of concern for the future." _Last week I had an unhealthy aversion to authority. _"Perhaps you should explain exactly what it is he is to do," Dr. Jodorowski suggested. _You just want to hear about it yourself._

"The only reason for my secrecy thus far was the boy. Were he to take a mere moment to think about it, there are other places he could go. He could return to Hogwarts were he disguised, or try for any other magical school, though his ignorance would continue to be an issue."

"And he would flee if he learned of your plans?"

"He has fled once already, and from far more forgiving pursuers, though if he flees from me I shall keep him alive, if in a state he would not desire. Perhaps he would still choose it over the mortal peril of the alternative, I care not."

"You intend to enter him into the Triwizard Tournament." Ioseb managed not to suddenly draw breath in shock. He remembered hearing about it from an older student a few years ago. The boy might have been lying, since someone else claimed there had been no tournaments for years due to the deaths, but he wanted no part in it either way, since what was described involved cockatrices and erumpents. Supposedly, a bit of friendly competition between Durmstrang, the British school, and the French would be good for relations, but he had no idea how it was worth it. "You may find a measure of trouble in that the other schools are discussing an age limit."

"They will discuss it, but they will not reach that conclusion. The late Albus Dumbledore had no issue with endangering students, and his replacement will be even more to my liking." _They intend to simply outvote the French Headmaster. They forget the three Ministries involved. I still have a way out._

"Perhaps this tournament explains Vasiliy's complaint," the mind arts teacher postulated. "Earlier, he bemoaned the inability to find erumpents anywhere in Egypt for his students to study. Of course, he may actually just be unable to find them-" _The magical creatures instructor has been out... now I know why._

"They have been taken," Karkaroff decided. "Excellent... they will make a perfect challenge for the Heir of Slytherin and whatever foolish children the other schools can manage. Chosen at random, the deaths of the others is known to me already. A perfect opportunity for revenge manifests itself," he concluded quickly, scratching something on a length of parchment. Ioseb attempted to get a better view, but Dr. Jodorowski glared at him before speaking again.

"You, I should think, would be more concerned with your tasks," she said, poking him in the center of his chest. _What's that supposed to mean? _"We can tell you that there will be three of them, though to preserve the excitement of the tournament, none can know what they are until the tournament begins."

"They have not been decided," the Headmaster clarified. "I shall be part of the decision, and I can leave you with no doubt that the tasks will kill the stupid, cowardly, and poorly prepared, perhaps even in that order."

"You spoke of dragons, once," the mind arts teacher reminded him.

"Perhaps I have, though it seems the commission has already gathered the magical creatures." _Why does she keep reminding him of things?_

"What should I do to prepare?" Ioseb asked, his mind fixated on the part about being poorly prepared. It worried him the most because it seemed the amount he knew about the tournament decreased by the minute.

"The last of items in a series does tend to stand out," Dr. Jodorowski said, though he might have thought it was the first just as easily. He was starting to wonder if any of the information in the books on the mind arts was gained through Legilimency. "You will find General Kolchak to be helpful on all fronts, though you should remember only I may teach you how to invade the minds of the Ministries."

The student swallowed. All the teachers intimidated him, to be sure, though if he or his parents had wanted an education free of particular distinction, they would have enrolled him at Koldovstoretz, though it would have been further away. General Kolchak was ancient, and he had something of a fearful look about him, as though he were always looking over his shoulder, advising everyone else to do the same, or at least all the boys in class. He was a force unrivaled in battle magic, raising clay soldiers from the ground by the thousand, far too many for any one witch or wizard to address without highly specific magic.

Ioseb hardened himself to the idea of getting better. He had passed thus far, which was an achievement, or so everyone told him, but he truly could not care less for the finer points of the high magicks, as he could hardly imagine making a career out of any of them, and for the last few years of his life, most pursuits seemed pointless, meaningless, or otherwise disappointing. _Now I am going to get better than ever. If I don't, I die._

"It appears even the most vexingly unambitious can reach a decision at some point," Karkaroff decided, running a hand through his beard as though he had never had one before. _I hate it when they do that. _"I shall remember to confine my expectations when his wit is tested."

"I am of one mind, Headmaster," the mind arts teacher said. "He has not even questioned, since the dismissal of Evan, why we continue to speak English."

"Take him back wherever you found him, Maria. I shall speak no more with him," the master of the school said with a bit of a hiss.

On her way out the door with Ioseb, Dr. Jodorowski turned back to the man behind the desk.

"In case you were wondering, I have known you were Lord Voldemort for about seven months now. Your Occlumency is without flaw, and your disguise is nearly perfect, though I and a few other members of the staff have discovered the occasional inconsistency, which you most likely have suspected yourself, most notably in this conversation." The dark wizard made no visible or audible response. "We have agreed, as you may also have determined, that you are the greatest Headmaster to ever grace Durmstrang with his presence."

"Never return to my office."

The mind arts teacher answered with a simple nod as she dragged the confused student out.

**A/N: Once again, we're at the end of a book and once again I'm happy you made it this far. I appreciate your enjoyment and reviews, even the reviews that come years after I publish this. On the Friday after, I shall resume my usual publishing schedule for the sequel: _Beyond Fear or Reason_.**


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